


Arsonist's Lullaby (Could Barely Tear My Eyes Away)

by Caddaren



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Assault, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Issues, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Q is a teacher, Rating May Change, Single Parent James Bond, Slow Build, Stalking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-04-04 20:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 35,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4151940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caddaren/pseuds/Caddaren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas Quintessant holds a Master’s degree in primary education from the University of Glasgow. He graduated top of his class, published various articles on child development, and secured a job at one of the best private schools in the country. </p><p>He also has no idea how to deal with flirty parents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When I Was A Child, I Heard Voices

Q had never considered himself a spectacularly ordinary person. From an early age, he had an obsession with the human mind and its inner workings. Even during his teenage years, when his sexual identity crisis had nearly broken him, he far preferred to spend time with case studies and his textbooks over his family or any friends. He wanted to know about himself, first struggling to find out why he was attracted to men and not women—and why his mind would decide to put his parents through that shame— and, later on, why he could never hold a stable relationship. Where had he learned this behavior, what events in his life had affected him? Was he just a fucked up individual?

It was only when he began his second year of university that he knew he wanted less to analyse the mind, and more so mold it. The years of child development had untapped potential, and people were as unpredictable as they were malleable.

It was also around this time that Q gave up on ever having a relationship. It was far easier to let people assume he was just anti-social—he was—and too strange to get a girlfriend than to risk his future over regular sex and emotional support. He could find both of those, safely separated, when the urge struck. After all, you couldn’t be queer and teach young kids, the world was far too harsh for that. He constantly reminded himself of this fact whenever a random bout of loneliness hit him and left him half-drowning in a bottle of expensive wine. It was such a waste and it left him angry with himself and with a throbbing hangover, but it only happened once or twice a year so he never bothered to try and fix it.

Q was as independent as they came, a regular young bachelor living alone in a modest flat a short ride from his workplace, and he never let anyone see him in a situation that would paint him in a different light. He never brought his one-night stands home, maintained friendly if distant relationships with his coworkers, agreed to cat-sit for his neighbors when they went on vacation to the Bahamas once a year. If anyone asked if he was happy with his way of life—no one did—he’d say yes, of course, and ask if he didn’t appear so. If pressed, he’d maybe admit to missing his family or friends, most of whom he’d left behind in Manchester and Glasgow respectively.

In short, he was lonely. And in denial.

His third year of teaching had begun two months ago and so far it had proved a worthy distraction, as it always had. The new kids in his class were everything he could have asked for, attentive and rambunctious and eager to learn, keeping him on his toes and leaving him exhausted but also reminding him how much he loved his job. They kept him busy, working far longer than the standard nine-to-three that school actually ran, filling his mornings with lesson plans and his nights with new gradebook entries. Each weekend was a race to catch up and get ahead, and each Monday was a new race to the final bell. It was only during the summer months when things wound down that Q itched to do something, to meet someone, and his sinful trysts became more frequent, as did his wine wasting and his calls to his mother.

November was a stressful month for teachers all around the country, private or public. He had parent-teacher conferences at the end of the month where he’d need to have a folder of graded work to present to persistent parents and he’d need to ready to praise their child’s every act for a solid 30 minutes. He’s also needed to prepare for any questions they might have about the classroom environment and his teaching methods. Both had been under scrutiny before, given that he was a young teacher and parents were hesitant to trust he knew what he was doing, but as long as he guided their kids seamlessly into the fourth grade and made sure they met all the criteria along the way, there would be no pressing complaints. Sometimes he’d disagree with certain parents due to their attitude or a differentiation of goals, but that was all in the job description.

That being said, given that it was the very beginning of November and he only had a few precious weeks to prepare, Q made it his mission to begin his work early—and he had, already compiling the personal folders since the beginning of the year with the most significant or upstanding work a child presented him with—and therefore focused on working most efficiency. As much as he did love his classroom and his desk, Q knew he often worked best where no one could pop their head in and bother him during his scheduled work time. He could bring his laptop to the local library, or he could go home and work until it was time for his frozen dinner, then work some more.

Deciding on working at home, Q packed his gradebook and a few folders he planned on stockpiling, some math homework he had yet to grade for their weekly take home folders, said his goodbyes to his colleagues hovering in the teacher’s lounge around the coffee machine, and made his way outside. He didn’t have a car, seeing no use for one when he could actually walk home if need be and the Underground ran to every corner of London, and made a beeline for the front gate with confidence no students would possibly still be around an hour after school had ended.

But of course, as with all Q’s confidence, it turned out to be false. As he was about to turn the corner of the gate and walk away from the grounds, he heard the creaking of one of the swings from the playground to the left of the building. Being too curious for his own good, and perhaps too paranoid, Q backtracked and ducked around the side of the building just in case. His paranoid proved to be correct, unlike his assumption, in that a little girl was pushing herself on the swing without any noticeable adult supervision. She was one of his students in fact, which made his chest tighten with fear. What if someone had walked by and seen her? She was relatively protected by staying on school grounds, which might dissuade predators, but the gates weren’t shut until after five. And what if she had fallen and gotten hurt? He’d never forgive himself for leaving her like this, and the option didn’t even cross his mind.

“Natalya?” He said, walking closer to her.

She turned her head to him but did not stop swinging, seemingly without a care in the world. “Hello Mr. Q,” she said, kicking her legs to gain momentum.

“Natalya, what are you doing out here?”

“Swinging,” she said. She had a peculiar way of talking that he was seeing for the first time. Not only was she incredibly shy in his classroom, but when she did speak it was like pulling teeth to get a straight answer out of her. If he wasn’t so concerned, he’d be wondered who taught her to talk with such a distinct “make me” way.

“Why are you out here all alone, Natalya?”

“Because he’s late,” she said, frowning and utterly glaring in the direction of the gate. “Again,” she added, slowing down as Q took a step or two closer to her and sat down on the swing next to her, messenger bag discarded in the sand.

“Who’s late?” He asked, swaying calmly alongside her. When she didn’t answer, he prodded further. “Where’s your mum, Natalya? Did she send someone to pick you up?”

“She’s probably somewhere in Venice, actually,” a voice said, and Q whipped his head around to keep his eyes on the approaching man. “I’m sorry I’m late, duckie, got hung up in traffic.”

“That’s what you always say,” said Natalya, pouting and kicking her feet against the sand beneath her.

Q looked between them, realized how bad of a first impression he must be making with sand in his brogues, and promptly stood. “Thomas Quintessant, Natalya’s teacher. Please call me Mr. Q, everyone else does.”

The man looked him up and down in the split second it took for their hands to meet, and Q decided he already didn’t like him all that well. He had a disarming casual look about him, the “I can read you better than you can read me” type that put Q instantly on edge, despite the bespoke suit he wore. Q blamed the sleepy slanted eyes, and maybe the easy slope of his shoulders as he stood.

“Bond. James Bond. I’m Natalya’s father,” he said, a hint of a smirk on one side of his mouth. No, Q didn’t like him one bit, especially considering the reason why Natalya was outside all alone before Q had noticed her, but he couldn’t show it for professional courtesies sake.

“You know you can always call us if you can’t make it in time for standard pick up,” said Q, because he was protective of the children in his classroom and traffic was no reason to risk your kid getting snatched or something worse.

“It slipped my mind,” said Bond, looking appropriately apologetic.

Q forcibly un-narrowed his eyes and slung his bag over his shoulder, watching Natalya similarly pick up her backpack. “Well, please try to remember next time. As long as we know she’s here, we’ll have no problem watching her for a bit if you’re running late. Having her outside without supervision is an accident waiting to happen,” he said.

“Of course, it won’t happen again. Thank you for watching over her,” said Bond.

Placated, Q smiled down at Natalya, who was still pouting but did meet his eyes. “And if he doesn’t show up within a few minutes and you’re the last one out here, just come back inside and hang out with me in the room, alright? We can play cards or hangman on the board, maybe even get Miss Moneypenny to join in if we bribe her, deal?” he said, and she considered his offer before her face bloomed.

“Deal!” She said, and he felt his smile grow into a grin.

“That’s my girl,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early, remember to your assigned reading for tomorrow or you’ll have to finish it during your break.” He turned to her father and said, “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bond,” in farewell, and then began walking home again.

“All mine,” said Bond, and Q heard Natalya say something to him that must have prompted him to call out “would you like a ride home?” after Q’s retreating back.

Q turned, “that won’t be necessary. Thank you for the offer, but I live just a few minutes away.” He waved at Natalya, who waved back with a far brighter disposition than she’d started off with, and then turned his backs on the school’s gates.


	2. Some Would Sing

It was the week after that when Q found Natalya outside on the swings again, unsupervised once again. He was the one on duty, thankfully, so when he heard the swings creaking from the playground his heart sank and he went to investigate. Natalya, to her credit, didn’t seem at all surprised at his appearance and gave him a small smile before returning to her activity.

“Your Dad’s late again today, huh?” He said, walking closer and tempted to take a seat on the swing next to her again.

“Yup,” she said, slowing down.

“Why don’t you come inside and wait with me?”

“Okay,” she said, gathering her bag from the sand and following him back of up to the classroom. It must have felt strange to hang out in her daily classroom without any of the other students around. He didn’t even have to ask her what she wanted to do, she just pulled out her free reading book and sat quietly at her desk.

Q glanced at the clock in worry. A half an hour passed and while his work was certainly not hindered by her presence, he didn’t think it was proper to keep a child in school for so long. She needed to be outside, playing, preferably under her family’s supervision. As far as he knew, however, Natalya was an only child, and her father was proving to be spectacularly absent at the most inopportune times. Natalya’s reaction to his tardiness gave Q the idea that this wasn’t the first time in the least, and that worried him most of all.

“What does your Dad do for a living?” He asked, taking an apple out of his bag and moving to the sink to slice it.

“He serves Her Majesty,” said Natalya, surprising Q. He had assumed her father worked for some large corporation, which would explain the suits and the long hours. If he worked for the state, which definitely required both of those things, then Q didn’t know how to react. Anger, of course, because anyone working a demanding job should always make the necessary arrangements to keep their child safe and happy. There had to be some sort of nanny service that would cover the time Mr. Bond and his wife couldn’t be around to parent.

But Q could also sympathize. His work also kept him from home, the very reason why he never dared own more than one cat or anything bigger, and also why he never bothered with high maintenance relationships of any nature. He knew the names of his neighbors and his colleagues, and he called his mother every other weekend if he remembered. His only sibling, his younger sister Alice, was somewhere stateside working for a non-profit organization that fundraised for underprivileged children in the South Americas. He had an automatic annual donation of 400 pounds to her organization and they called on birthdays and major holidays. He had two young nieces he had never met at, ages one and three, who his sister claimed were all-American just like their father.

He was content with where his life was headed. He was young enough that most of his family didn’t bother him about getting married and he himself didn’t have to worry about the stress of such an intimate relationship either. He had toyed with the idea of dating just to keep up the guise of being straight, but that would ruin the unapproachable and insufferable reputation he had built himself. He cast down anyone who dared tease him, friendly or not, which lessened his popularity but also established him as a hardworking hard-ass who let nothing slip. He could live with such an image, cultivated it to suit his fancy, even.

But he was also lonely. As Natalya was, if in a few different ways. He didn’t mind looking after her, not when she had no one else and no one closer to her. Q wondered if her father would follow his suggestion to hire a nanny or insist on ignoring his advice, leaving Natalya in Q’s room after school each day.

He set the sliced apple down in front of her, pulling up a chair and sharing the snack with her. Natalya was happy to eat with him, even smiling a little when he offered to read to her for a few minutes. Q loved reading aloud to the kids during the day. It kept them quiet and it calmed them down, so he often reserved it as either a treat for a truly exceptional lesson or after recess when they were restless.

Natalya was reading Redwall, one of the books he had brought in from his own childhood collection the first year he had started teaching in hopes he would have a few advanced readers capable of handling the higher reading level. Natalya was one of his best readers, often volunteering to read aloud for the class when he asked and always picking spare books out for herself. For this book, she read slowly and surely, eyes stuttering over words she didn’t know, and many times he’d seen her writing down words she couldn’t define by context.

Q prided himself on also being a talented reader. His adolescence had been filled with books of all kinds, he had had frequently read to Alice before bed with his mother sitting nearby and nodding with encouragement. Two years ago he had rediscovered his talent for dramatic reading, taking on the voices of characters he had always heard when he had read them as a child, pulled back to those nights reading to his sister. The children were enthusiastic, to say the least, begging him to read to them in such a way they hadn’t heard since their first year or two of schooling. Happily, he rewarded them.

Now Q stood, pacing slightly as he read, gesturing to his audience of one with his spare hand. Redwall, especially the first book, had always been one of his favourites and he had fought hard to make Alice love it as well. “ _‘Bah! Nothing of the sort, young mouse. Listen carefully to me. I have an uncanny feeling that you may be the one I have been saving this vital piece of information for.’ Matthias forgot his lunch. He listened attentively. ‘About four summers ago I treated a sparrow-hawk who had pulled a sinew in her foot…’”_ He turned, fully in character and reveling in Natalya’s delight as she munched on the last of the apple. He tripped out of his voice, however, when he made eye contact with Mr. Bond standing in the class doorway, leaning against the wooden frame with a smirk on his face.

“Mr. Bond, I didn’t see you there,” he said, fighting the embarrassment that threatened to spread heat over his face.

“Oh it’s quite alright, I didn’t want to interrupt. Please, continue,” said Bond, moving from his perch in the door to sit down next to her daughter. Natalya said something quietly to him which made him smile, and he stole a quick kiss to her cheek in apology when she squawked after he swiped one of the last slices of apple.

Q, though feeling a bit off-balance, continued with the passage, vowing to hold his character voice steady for Natalya’s sake. “‘ _She could not use her talons properly. Hmm, as I remember, I made her promise never to take a mouse as prey. She was a fierce, frightening bird. Have you ever been close up to a sparrow-hawk? No, of course you haven’t. Well…’”_ After he a few minutes he forgot Mr. Bond was even there, instead flicking his gaze from the words to Natalya’s face, watching her rapt attention focused back on him. After a few more paragraphs, the chapter ended and Natalya graciously accepted the book back from him.

“Thank you, Mr. Q,” she said, and he smiled down at her, grabbing the last of the apple and throwing the paper plate away.

“If I could speak to you in the hall, Mr. Bond,” said Q. Mr. Bond’s attention snapped from his daughter to Q, and Q found he didn’t like being at the center of that focus one bit.

“You’re in trouble,” said Natalya, whispering. She giggled at the look her father sent her, but Q ducked out the door before he could hear more of their interaction. Bond joined him a few seconds later, face giving nothing away.

“Your daughter is wonderful,” said Q, “and I will always happily accept her company. However, you cannot keep running late without any warning. A simple google search and a few phone calls could put you in touch with a suitable nanny service if needed. There is no shame in working long hours, Mr. Bond, but there is in leaving your child stranded at school. This is a place of learning and safety, and I would never want Natalya to begin dreading her time here simply because this is the most convenient babysitting service you’ve found. She’s smart enough to know when you’re passing her off to someone else with disregard. If you can’t arrange for a nanny, for whatever reason, you and your wife will have to meet with the Headmaster to explain your situation and find a common ground on the matter.”

Bond looked angry for a moment, then the look calmed down to mere irritation. Q expected both, and was almost exalted Bond for maintaining his composure. But, if what his daughter said was correct about working for the Crown, then it was only to be expected that the man have a decent poker face. “Natalya’s mother is no longer involved in her life,” said Bond, and Q took a moment to slot that piece of information into his mental file for Natalya. It made sense, given how spread thin her father appeared to be. Q almost regretted giving him such a firm talking to. Almost.

“Nevertheless, as Natalya’s sole guardian, if you cannot hire a nanny or similar service, arrange a meeting with the Headmaster. Mallory would be happy to work something out, I’m sure, and I will do my best to keep Natalya safe and happy as well. We’re on your side, Mr. Bond, there’s no reason for this to be difficult,” said Q, giving the man his best professional smile before passing around him and going back into his classroom. Natalya was back to reading, but he saw the glances she snuck in their direction when Q returned with her father only a few steps behind him.

“Time to go, duckie,” said Bond, and Natalya quickly slipped her book into her bag and reached for her father’s hand. Before they reached the door Bond turned to Q, who braced for the worst. If Bond really had the gall to argue in front of his daughter, Q would lose respect for the man and refer to him with the worst nicknames he could think of. Whore donkey or twat muncher came to mind, but only because none of his kids were around.

Instead of anything Q expected Bond said, “thank you, Mr. Quintessant. I will consider my options,” and then led Natalya out. Q sighed with relief and turned back to his desk. Mr. Bond was not a twat muncher, apparently, and that thought comforted Q more than he thought it would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's looking like short updates every other day, guys. I hope that keeps you all happy :)


	3. Some Would Scream

Q thought that would be the end of it. Mr. Bond, while a single father with indisputably full hands, seemed to take Q’s instructions to heart and followed through on it. Natalya hadn’t shown up in his room for nearly a week, and though Q still checked the swings after school had ended and the time for pickup had passed, she was never there either. Every other child was either picked up by their stay at home parent or a nanny of some kind, often the same nanny that had raised them in their parents’ absence. Q found it a bit strange that Natalya did not have a nanny herself, but perhaps their home situation was more complex than he had a right to know.

Either way, Q trusted Mr. Bond to take care of his own child now that he was given options he may not have thought of himself and that trust had apparently not been misplaced. Q was content with his now empty room, thankful Mr. Bond had found a place for this daughter before Q could become attached to her presence in the after school hours. He might have missed having the excuse to take a break and read, but his productivity was back to its normal high and that certainly wasn’t a bad thing. Working straight through from seven in the morning, two hours before class started for the day, to seven at night, 4 hours after class ended, might be a bit unhealthy, however.

But no one became a teacher for the easy hours and lack of commitment. Q had fully accepted his career in holy matrimony, after all, and there was no going back now. It wasn’t as if anyone was waiting for him at home—he fed his cat each morning before he left anyway—and no one working with him noticed his long hours. Or they did and didn’t bother making a comment. Either they didn’t care about his health or they knew what he was going through.

There were older teachers who had the system working for them after so many years, in and out of their room right along with their students and still somehow keeping on top of their workload. The man Q replaced, taking over his classroom and taking his old lesson plans, had been working in the same scarily efficient way. Considering the lack of technology being utilized before Q had come along and taken up the mantle, this information nearly floored him. Exactly what were those old veterans doing?

Q envied them in their experience and wisdom and wished they would grace him with their coveted techniques. That would require him being friendly with them, getting closer than simply giving a good morning near the coffee machine each day. Q wasn’t too good at making friends, and while it had very little effect on his work, it did affect his inclusion in groups. And that was okay, perfectly okay.

Again, lonely and in denial.

The weekend came and went with a bit more stress than Q would care to admit. He was in the final stretch of the conference portfolios for the kids and their parents and the approaching deadline was losing him sleep but also motivating him. So what if he only managed to get a few hours of sleep on Saturday night, it wasn’t as if he saw the kids on Sunday. And Sunday was spent running damage control on his own body, keeping busy by doing dishes and cleaning his bathroom and putting on a load of laundry for the upcoming week. The dark bags under his eyes were mostly gone by the time Monday morning came around.

Mondays were always hectic. More than once kids had gone somewhere with their parents for a relaxing vacation and came back without their work done. It was a constant scramble to catch them up while helping the rest of the class as well. Often times he postponed certain group activities to give everyone the night to catch up on what they needed to participate fully.

He was not expecting Mr. Bond to carry Natalya into his room. She was crying into her dad’s shoulder, soaking his suit, and the man did not look happy despite the day barely starting. Bond set her down and kneeled in front of her, holding her small hands in his broad ones. Q tried to busy himself, not wanting to pry, but heard him loud and clear anyways. Perhaps Mr. Bond just had that kind of voice.

“I’m very disappointed in you, duckie,” said Bond, and Natalya’s tears resumed full force. He kissed his daughters hands, cupping her chin and making her look him in the eye. “Do you understand why?”

“Yes,” said Natalya, choking out the words. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I-”

“And you understand I will not tolerate your behaviour any longer.”

“Yes,” she said, wiping the tears away from her eyes as her lips trembled.

“And you also understand that I still love you no matter what.”

“Yes Daddy,” she said, and he pulled her close for a tight hug. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.”

Bond sighed again, stroking the back of her head to soothe her hair for her and cup her nape. “You said that last time, duckie,” he said, but he sounded more resigned than he did angry. “We’ll work on it together.”

Natalya nodded, aiding her father’s attempts at wiping her cheeks dry. She sniffed and looked like she needed another hug, but Q had a feeling her father wouldn’t indulge her a second time. Mr. Bond sent her to her desk and then turned his attention to Q.

“Mr. Quintessant,” he said, and Q startled so bad he nearly dropped the papers he was slotting into take-home folders. Bond didn’t look too apologetic, and at a better time Q had a feeling he’d be smirking again. Instead, Mr. Bond was still frowning and looking a bit under-rested. There were heavy lines underneath his eyes, and Q could relate to that on a personal level. “If I could speak to you in the hall?”

“Yes, of course,” said Q, setting his papers down and giving Natalya a quick glance before following her father into the hall. He closed the door behind him, preparing for anything.

“I have a favour to ask of you,” said Bond, in lieu of a good morning or greeting. Q raised his eyebrows, but Bond plowed on. “Natalya didn’t get along with her new nanny, the woman called me when we were already in the car and quit without warning.”

Q stared at him for a second too long, not moving. “Are you telling me your daughter drove away her nanny?” He said, keeping his voice as calm as he could.

“For lack of a better word, yes,” he said.

“And this has happened before?” said Q, crossing his arms loosely.

Bond shoved his hands in his pockets, tipping his head back as if readying for a fight. “Yes,” he said, then practically deflated, “though she won’t tell me why. The only person she accepts is my mother, but I can’t just ask her to quit her own job and live with us for Natalya’s sake.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Q, fixing his glasses as he ran the situation over in his head. “Is this you asking me to watch her today?”

“Yes, if you could,” said Bond, “she likes you and she respects you. I don’t have enough time to arrange something else with the agency before I have to be at work.”

Q glanced at his watch, “its 8:30,” he said, “when do you have to be at work.”

“7:00,” said Bond, gaining that unapologetic look on his face again.

Q smiled, briefly of course, then fixed his glasses again as he said, “I can watch her today, and any other day you’re running late.”

“Thank you,” said Bond, extending his hand for a shake which Q easily accepted. He placed a hand on Q’s shoulder and angled him forward enough to place a perfunctory kiss on his right cheek. “I should be here to pick her up around 5:00.”

“Uh, yes, of course. We’ll be here,” said Q, slightly off kilter. He fixed his glasses and turned to watch Bond walk away.

“Have a good day, Mr. Quintessant,” said Bond, throwing it over his shoulder.

“You too, Mr. Bond,” he said. He waited until he heard the doors to the stairwell open and close, then joined Natalya in the classroom again. She was sitting at her desk staring at her shoes, no longer crying but sniffing every few seconds.

Q took pity on her and brought her the tissue box, giving her a comforting smile. “Your dad told me what happened,” he said, because kids deserved to be treated like adults and she ought to know the plan for today. “You’re going to be staying with me this afternoon, is that okay with you?”

She nodded, and he kneeled in front of her desk. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Natalya shook her head, and he accepted her decision. “I’m here if you need me, you know that right?”

She looked up at him for the first time all morning. “Yes, Mr. Q,” she said, and her voice sounded so small. He smiled, and hoped it was enough.

The day passed quickly for Q, as it always did. One minute he was settling the kids down to start their first lesson, the next they were headed to lunch, and then suddenly they were getting their bags and his room was emptying. Natalya was the only one that stayed behind, and Q took her outside to play on the swings like the other kids did as they waited to be picked up. When they were the last ones left on the playground, Q called her back in and led her back to the classroom.

“What do you want to do?” asked Q, opening one of the cabinets in the back of his room and looking over this arts and craft supplies.

“I don’t know,” said Natalya, and Q looked over his shoulder to see her sulking at his desk.

“Well, what would you usually do after school when you’re at home?”

“Hide in my room,” she said.

Q turned, alarmed. “Hide from what? Or who?”

“My nannies. They don’t care about me, only about my dad or his money,” she said, and Q was struck with how damn observant kids could be without trying.

Abandoning the cabinet, he took a seat in front of her and leaned his elbows on her desk. “Natalya, will you tell me about your family?” It was none of his business what was going on in her house… except that it was. He needed to know, for her own safety and for his peace of mind. Mr. Bond seemed like a dedicated father, albeit a bit spread thin without the proper support for raising a child. But single parents were a common thing nowadays, and there was nothing that said it was impossible, merely more difficult than the normal nuclear family. Bond seemed like a fairly capable man, maybe even one who could appreciate a challenge, so Q hadn’t thought beyond keeping Natalya safe. If her father wasn’t doing a good enough job as a parent… Q needed to know.

“I used to live with my mom,” she said. “Dad wasn’t home often because of his work. Then Mom left and now Dad doesn’t want me.”

“Oh Natalya, you know that’s not-”

“He passes me off to anyone he can, Nana said so! He hates spending time with me, so he hires someone to do it for him,” she said, glaring straight at Q as if he was the one at fault. “The only people that actually want me are you and Nana, and Nana’s too busy with her work.”

Q was left stunned for a moment, and then he reached out and took her hand. It was small and soft compared to his, but she squeezed his fingers tight. “I will always want you, Natalya, even when you’re no longer my student. Even when you’re in high school,” he grinned when she smiled at that, eyes wet with new tears. “And I’m sure you’re dad loves and wants you to. He loves you enough to work and provide for you, and make sure you have someone to watch you and keep you safe when he’s not around, doesn’t he?”

Natalya nodded, but Q knew it was only the beginning of solving her troubles. “Is this why you don’t like your nannies? You want your dad?” Natalya nodded again, this time squeezing her eyes shut as her lip trembled. “Have you tried telling him this?” She shook her head, and Q frowned a bit. Natalya was obviously acting out for her father’s attention, and getting her nannies to leave both achieved that and forced him to spend more time with her until the next one filled the void. It was quite smart, when you looked at it objectively, but it was also unhealthy. “Do you want me to talk to him?”

“Yes,” she said, and then added, “please” in her wobbling voice. She squeezed his fingers again, only able to hold a few in her hand, but Q understood.

“I will today, alright? We’ll get this figured out,” he said, giving her his best smile. “Now do you want to read or do you want to paint with me?”

“Paint, please,” she said, her face lifting.

“Painting it is!” he said, and stood to open the cabinet with a flourish. She giggled at his theatrics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic and chapter titles come from Arsonist's Lullaby by Hozier, for anyone that didn't know. It's a very good song, but the choice was semi-random so don't put all that much weight on it.


	4. You Have Few Choices

Q recruited Ms. Moneypenny in his efforts to cheer Natalya up with watercolour paints. Luckily, children had a way of bouncing back emotionally that adults did not, and Natalya was laughing and talking along with them in her usual way before the hour was up. Q’s hands were covered in paint—he was not an artistic person, nor entirely coordinated either—but thankfully he had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows before starting in.

On the other side of the coin, Ms. Moneypenny was ever flawless in appearance and skill, proudly working on her second painting while her first was drying on a desk nearby. Q envied her talent with the arts whenever he glanced over at her wonderfully complex ocean and compared it to his own lackluster porcelain tea set. Natalya was also faring better than he with a stunning rendition of the night sky and full moon. He expertly kept his jealously out of his tone and off his face, constantly encouraging her while subtly trading quips with Eve when Natalya was concentrating on her project.

It came as a surprise when Mr. Bond showed up a little bit before 5:00. Q, in the middle of a very precise stroke of yellow paint, barely noticed his arrival. It was only when Eve nudged him that he looked up and made eye contact with the man. “Oh, Mr. Bond,” he said, standing and floundering for a place to put his brush without making a mess. It went in the cup of water in the middle of the table. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

“It’s alright, I’m early,” said Bond, moving to look over Natalya’s shoulder at her work. He smiled when she proudly pointed out each detail of her painting, and then moved from her seat to showcase Ms. Moneypenny’s masterpiece and Q’s mess as well.

He raised an eyebrow, “you painted dirty dishes?”

“It’s a tea set!” Q squawked, ignoring Eve’s lighthearted laughter. Q crossed his arms, forgetting his dirty hands, “I’m not an artist.”

“No, apparently not,” said Bond, making Eve giggle all the more. She held a hand over her mouth in a semblance of good grace, but made no effort to quiet her amusement.

Q shot her a quick glare and said, “Would you like to join us then? Showcase your hidden creative talent?”

“I don’t claim to be the next Picasso,” said Bond, but he sat down next to his daughter and happily let her show him how the water colours worked.

Q groaned when he found the mess on the arms of his shirt, but the paint was already dry and it was the end of the day anyway so he left it. He sat down to finish his tea set, sneaking glances at what Mr. Bond was working on as time passed. It was growing to be a truly magnificent tree, and after a while Q purposely stopped looking and ignored Eve’s knowing looks.

“It’s the tree at Nana’s house!” said Natalya, looking thrilled at her recognition. Her father nodded, grinning, and let her take over and put little flowers at the base of the tree. Natalya completely leaned into his space, and her father was forced to lean back or risk butting heads. When he did so, he and Q made eye contact.

Q fixed his glasses, pushing them up his nose when there was no real need, and then glanced between Natalya and the door. Bond raised an eyebrow but said nothing. “I need to talk to you before you two head home,” he said, and Natalya looked up at him with wide eyes. “Unless you don’t want me to,” he said to Natalya, but she only looked back down at the picture and shrugged indecisively. Q didn’t try to pull anything more concrete out of her.

Bond stood, and Q said, “We’ll be back in a minute,” to Eve.

She grinned at him and said, “Don’t take too long,” and threw Mr. Bond a wink that was completely inappropriate. Behind him, he could practically hear Mr. Bond smirking back at her. He didn’t allow it to affect him, instead fixing his glassed again and led Mr. Bond out into the hallway.

“I spoke with Natalya today after school had ended,” he said, straight to business. All flirtation on Bond’s face disappeared immediately, and for that Q was thankful. “She told me she’s driving away her nannies because she wants you to spend more time with her. She feels like you’re passing her off to whoever will take her, and I have a feeling she’s overheard you and your mother, ‘Nana’, talking about her and this same problem.”

Bond sighed and tucked his hands into his pockets. Q waited a minute before continuing. “What do you do for work, Mr. Bond? Your daughter said you work for the Queen,” he said.

Bond slipped into his normal posture, that kind that Q would never be able to imitate without looking like he was posturing. Half of it came with the breadth of his shoulders, Q guessed, because he has met plenty of bulky men who seemed to take up far more room than they actually did. The slightly disinterest, slightly amused look usually on Mr. Bond’s face probably helped as well. “I do. My work also takes me out of the country quite a bit.”

Q assumed that was all he was getting, and moved on. It was enough information, and he didn’t have a right or a need to know more. To have gotten anything out of a government worker was something in itself. “Then you know the obvious need for a nanny,” said Q.

Bond looked almost frustrated with him, and tension slipped into his shoulders. “What am I supposed to do, Mr. Quintessant? None of them stay more than a month, and a few of them have left after only a few days. They told me everything between her simply being uncooperative, to going as far as the bully them out. One poor girl had red dye soaked into the seat of her pants every day and Natalya left her nearly crying before she refused to come back,” he said, his tone sharper but not angry. Q took it all in stride even if he was amazed, on some level, at Natalya’s determination.

Holding back the underlying urge to take the man’s hand and squeeze like he had done with his daughter, Q clasped his own hands loosely together. “Have you spoken to the Headmaster about this?” Bond shook his head, still looking defensive. “Then that’s your first step. For now, I will watch Natalya until you can pick her up.”

“I need someone to watch her in the mornings so I can get to work on time,” he said.

“I am in my classroom by 7:00 every morning, so you can bring her here. For now,” he added, not wanting Mr. Bond to think this was a permanent solution. “I’m willing to work something out with Mallory as long as you explain the situation to him first. It’s highly unorthodox for me to be babysitting one of my students before school opens, but I believe it’s necessary for the time being. The only other alternative is…”

“Finding a new job, or finding another parent to take her to school and bring her to my workplace,” said Bond, and Q nearly cringed.

“I know it’s not ideal, but I’m sure something can be done to help the both of you,” said Q, and Bond nodded.

“How is she in class?” Ask Bond, and Q breathed a mental sigh of relief at the familiar ground.

“She’s a model student, I’m happy to have her in my classroom. I often give her leadership roles in our activities because I know I can trust her,” said Q, and Bond’s face cracked with a smile. “You should be proud of her, holding up under all the apparent stress.”

“I am,” he said, and there was nothing to convince Q otherwise. It was the attitude he liked to see in his parents. He took in Bond’s appearance, everything from his expensive suit to the stubble lining his jaw, and lastly the dark circles beginning to show around his eyes. Mr. Bond was a grown man, and Q trusted him to take care of himself just fine, but he also knew that sometimes adults neglected their own health at the best of times. The stress of caring for daughter was obviously weighing on him, and either it was just starting to be too much for him or his façade was simply slipping only now. Q wished he could do more for the man.

Q led him back into the classroom and Bond gathered his daughter into his arms, doting on her and promising to put her artwork on their refrigerator. “Have a good day, Mr. Quintessant, Ms. Moneypenny,” he said, and Natalya said her goodbyes as well.

Eve wished them well with a blinding smile, and Q waved as he said, “see you both tomorrow.” He moved to clean up the paints and brushes as Eve sat in his chair, kicking off her impossibly high heels and placing her feet on his desk.

“Mr. Bond seems nice,” she said.

Q nodded. “He is,” he said, washing his hands at the sink. “He cares for his daughter very much.”

“And where’s Mrs. Bond?” she asked, her voice falsely innocent.

Q glared at her, rolling his sleeves back down to his now clean wrists. “That’s an incredibly inappropriate question, Eve,” he said.

“So I’m guessing she’s out of the picture then,” she said.

Q sighed, “yes, I believe Mr. Bond said something about Venice.”

“Ooh, fancy. I wonder how long it’s been since the split,” she said. Q withheld a twitch of annoyance.

“Eve, it’s completely unprofessional to pursue a relationship with the parent of one of the students,” he said. “Regardless of their marital status,” he added.

“I know, I know,” she said, picking her heels off the floor and then plucking her now dry painting off the desk. “He is attractive, though,” she said, and gave him a knowing grin.

“You’re as insatiable as you were at university, my love,” he said, allowing himself to smile.

“What can I say, I’ve got a big appetite, and Mr. Bond seems just the type to know how to wine and dine a girl,” she said, winking as the paused in the doorway.

“Keep your innuendos out of my classroom,” he said, shooing her away.

Eve laughed, a full sound that threw her head back and drew attention to the fine bone structure of her face. Q knew Mr. Bond would be a fool not to respond to her interests if she did make them known. He also knew that Eve could lose her job if Mr. Bond felt uncomfortable with her advances and reported them. It was a dangerous game, for sure.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, _‘Mr. Quintessant’_ ,” she said, and then she was gone.

Q sighed, looking over his completed artwork with no small amount of chagrin. No matter how relaxing it had been he had lost a whole afternoon of work. He needed to pack and go home and spend the evening making up lost time.


	5. The Voices Died With Me

Q was in his classroom around 7:00 in the morning as he always was. He was expecting Mr. Bond and Natalya any minute, and busied himself with putting his lunch in the mini-fridge by the sink and unpacking the rest of his bag. The end of November was drawing close and Q was admittedly not where he needed to be in preparation for the parent-teacher conferences. He had met a few of the parents already when they came in to pick up or drop off their children and sometimes stayed to chat, and he already knew quite a few would demand nothing less than his full efforts.

It was exhausting but he only needed to sleep enough for the bags under his eyes to stay away and no one would call him on it. If his tea kettle got a bit more use around this time of year, who was to know? His gradebook was filled and the book projects his kids were working on this week was designed for relatively easy grading as well. He was hoping for a semi-relaxing weekend, if he was being honest, but he knew that was a far off dream.

He heard Natalya talking excitedly before she and her father reached the door. Mr. Bond gave him a smirk as he carried Natalya into the room on his hip, and Q grinned when he saw her gesturing wildly with her hands as she told her tale. “And he didn’t even look back at the explosion, Daddy, he didn’t even look back!”

Mr. Bond laughed and it was the first time Q had heard the sound. It was quite pleasant, as were Natalya’s giggles when she joined in with him. Bond set her down on her own two feet, “Good morning, Mr. Q,” she said, and Q gave her a bright smile.

“Good morning to you, Natalya,” he said, and she practically ran for her seat before he could say anymore, which wasn’t entirely unusual for certain students.

“Mr. Quintessant,” said Bond, and Q turned his attention to him instead.

“Good morning, Mr.-” he started, but his phone rang and he nearly startled at the sound. He forgot how loud it was. “Excuse me one moment,” he said and picked the phone up on its third ring. “Mr. Q speaking.”

“Ah, Thomas, I knew you’d be in. How are you this morning?”

“Mr. Mallory,” said Q, and saw Bond turn to watch him as he spoke. He met the man’s eyes and leaned back against his desk, shrugging in response to a raised eyebrow. “I’m well, thank you for asking. To what do I owe the pleasure so early in the day?”

“Mr. Bond’s there with you, is he? He requested a meeting with me for this evening about his daughter.”

“Is there a problem? I told him to do so,” said Q, and Bond was staring at him now. It was a bit unnerving, but Q focused his entire attention on his boss as the situation called for.

“On the contrary, he said he’d prefer you were present. It seems he thinks you might have some solutions to his ‘nanny problem’ as he put it,” said Mallory, chuckling quietly.

“Of course, sir, I have no plans for the evening,” said Q, even as he cursed the loss of time.

“Thank you, Q, I’m grateful. It’s not very often you hear tales of teachers going above and beyond for their students and I’m proud we’re one of the schools that employs the kind of people that do. I’ll have my secretary send you the details,” said Mallory.

“Of course, sir, have a good day.”

“And you as well.”

The moment he hung up the phone Bond had him cornered. Verbally, of course, because Bond hadn’t moved from his daughter’s side and physically accosting a teacher would get him thrown out of the building. It would also be entirely inappropriate and leave Q backed up against his desk. Ms. Moneypenny would have a fit if she heard. “So you’ll come,” said Bond, not evening asking a question.

“Yes,” said Q, looking between him and Natalya, “of course I will. This is for one of my favourite students, after all.” Natalya looked up and smiled at him, and her father smiled as well. They bid their goodbyes as Mr. Bond was already late for work—just not quite as late as he used to be—and Natalya was steadily joined by her other classmates as time went by. Q led the class from one activity to another, to the cafeteria for lunch and to the library for their timeslot in the afternoon.

When only Natalya was left, Q made the mistake of sitting down. The fatigue of the day hit him all at once and he sighed, blinking slowly. Bless her soul, Natalya kept herself busy for a good chunk of time as Q sat behind his desk and rested his feet, even going as far as to take off his shoes as he slowly graded their math quizzes from the day before. He was behind, something he found personally inexcusable, and already longed for the end of the school year and the end of paperwork.

Around 4 Q made sure to grab a granola bar for Natayla and one for himself, sitting and reading to her for a few minutes when he was finished eating. Around 5 Mr. Bond knocked on the door grinned at his daughter’s excitement, swinging her up into his arms and twirling her around.

“You’re not late today!”

“No, I’m not, duckie,” said Bond, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “We’re going to Nana’s today, remember?”

“Yes, I remember,” she said, and she didn’t seem put off in the slightest.

Q gave her bag to her father with a polite smile. “Mr. Bond,” he said.

“Mr. Quintessant,” said Bond, taking her bag and thus filling both of his hands. He seemed to realize this a moment after he did it, and Q only chuckled at his helpless gesture. Natalya looked too perfectly snug for him to put her down just to shake Q’s hand.

“Don’t bother,” said Q, “she’s comfortable, and I already know your handshake is strong.” Perhaps it was a poor joke, considering the way Mr. Bond’s eyebrow quirked up and his lips curled into a smirk. Q regretted it immediately, thankful Eve wasn’t around to see him flounder in yet another social situation. He glanced away and pushed his glasses up his nose.

“The meeting is at 7,” said Bond, and Q took it for the mercy it was.

“Yes, Mr. Mallory told me,” said Q, “I’ll be there, as you requested.”

“Thank you, see you then, Mr. Quintessant,” said Bond, and Natalya waved to him in goodbye from her father’s arms. Q gave his best grin and tried not to worry about the paperwork he’d be missing because of so many interruptions.

He graded his students’ work during the two hours in between Natalya going home and the time for the meeting. It was only when his stomach growled terribly loud that Q realized he hadn’t eaten since his snack with Natalya around four. Checking his watch, Q cursed and vowed to eat an extra healthy meal when he got home. Hopefully the meeting would take long enough for his stomach to interrupt and make things awkward.

Mr. Mallory had no inhibitions about calling Q out on not leaving the building, however, even before his stomach let them know he had missed dinner. “We scheduled this meeting after dinnertime so all participants could make it home to eat with their families before being called away again,” said Mallory, and Q wanted to melt into the wallpaper.

“It slipped my mind, sir,” he said, instead of turning his face into the corner of the man’s office and pretending to disappear. “It’s not too late, I usually get home around this time anyways.”

“You skipped dinner?” said Bond, before he even shook Mallory’s hand in greeting. It was the first thing the man said and Q cursed Mallory for calling attention to it. “Isn’t that a bit dangerous for you, being all skin and bones and what not?”

“Exactly, Q I must insist. Please find something in the fridge behind you,” said Mallory, and Q felt very much like a kid in the grown-up area. He began to paw through the refrigerator’s contents while Bond and Mallory finally exchanged pleasantries and began discussing the matter at hand.

“…which is why I’d like to offer Q a job,” said Bond, and Q’s head snapped up. Bond glanced over at him before continuing. “He watches my daughter everyday already, and it’s unfair of me to ask that of him without compensation. I’d like to pay him, and maybe work out a better arrangement.”

Q didn’t know what to say, very much out of his element. Talking to kids he could handle, even talking to their parents about any concerns they may have. How was Q supposed to explain his unavailability at certain unmentionable times and days of week? “I am very busy, Mr. Bond,” he said, because it seemed like a good place to start. “I watch Natalya in the afternoons because she’s my student and I care about her, and because I thought we both understood it was a temporary arrangement. It’d be better for you to find a proper service to cover the time you can’t be with your daughter.”

“You must understand, Mr. Quintessant, my daughter is very fussy. She’s driven away twenty-nine babysitters and nannies in the past two years. It’s very rare when she likes one of them well enough to let them stay for more than a week or two at most. Natalya _adores_ you, she talks about you all the time at home, she’d never object to spending more time with you,” said Bond, trying to reason with him.

“It’s not my place to tell you how to raise your daughter, Mr. Bond, but she wants your company and attention, and if you can’t give it to her or work something out with her, this problem will never go away,” said Q, fixing his glasses. He took a deep breath before continuing. “I can’t say I’m available to dedicate my time to Natalya because I need to be equally available and dedicated to every single one of my other students.”

“I’m only asking you to try, Mr. Quintessant, please. Just give it a week or two and see if you can't handle it,” said Bond, now outright pleading. Q found himself utterly disarmed by the earnest blue eyes staring back at him. He was sure that if Mr. Bond thought it would help, the man would be kneeling and kissing his feet as if he was the Pope himself.

Q glanced to Mallory, hoping for support, and found the man studying his face. He swallowed, and his empty stomach twisted painfully with nerves. After a moment, finding no clues on Mallory’s face, Q said “I’ll have to think about it,” and Mr. Bond’s face lit up like his daughter’s often did.

“Fantastic, I’ll tell Natalya when I get home to her,” said Bond. Q’s heart seized.

“No!” Bond stared at him. “I mean, um, please don’t. I don’t want to let her down if I decide against it,” said Q. Bond nodded.

“I understand,” said Bond, standing. “Thank you. I’ll look for other options while you make up your mind.”

“Thank you,” said Q, shaking Mr. Bond’s hand. Mallory likewise did so, and then Bond was gone like he’d never been there. Q sunk into the chair he had previously occupied and sighed so deeply his lungs stuttered.

“So, Q,” said Mallory, and Q was almost afraid to look him in the eye. “What are you going to do now?”

Q groaned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't noticed, there's no rhyme or reason to the chapter titles. Also, sorry for missing a few updates. Personal stuff had me very busy.


	6. When I Was a Child, I'd Sit For Hours

Q arrived home that day to an empty and dark flat, as he always did. He lived alone save for his tabby cat Oscar—named after Oscar Wilde, who Q secretly adored—and he much preferred it that way for the most part. When he needed to talk about his day and Oscar didn’t suffice as a conversation partner, Q would call Eve and rant to her with Downton Abbey reruns showing in the background as he ate his dinner out of the pan. Eve would indulge himself unless she, very much single herself, had the rare presence of company.

Q had been living like this since he graduated college. Even in college he had only a few close friends, one of them being Eve. Bless that woman, Q thought on a regular basis. Without Ms. Moneypenny, Q would have gone mad long ago. As he toed off his shoes and hung up his coat, Q debated on calling her and filling her in. But he knew what she would say, and Q didn’t want to be thinking about Mr. Bond inappropriately right now. It wasn’t the most inopportune time to have Eve pestering him about his underlying attraction to the man—yes he could admit that Mr. Bond was attractive, but that didn’t mean he had to _ogle_ the man, or salivate as Eve did—and he just couldn’t deal with the stress of it on top of everything else.

Oscar took his place on Q’s lap as soon as Q sat down, and he ran his fingers through the cat’s soft fur. “Oh Oscar, what should I do?” said Q, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. His mind meandered this way and that, from pros to cons to anything in between. He wasn’t aware how much time had passed before his oven beeped and he could smell his baked potato from the kitchen. Oscar hopped off when he was shooed, and Q ate his dinner at the small table resting in the corner of his kitchen.

“I should call him,” said Q, reaching for his phone and remembering exactly where his student files were kept on his computer. He paused halfway through typing the number for Natalya’s home contact, second guessing himself. He glanced at the clock. It was already 8:00, which meant Natalya would—should—be in bed by now and he might wake her up with his call. Was her bedroom near the phone? Was their house big enough for the noise to be blocked by the walls?

Would Mr. Bond even pick up? It wasn’t like he had any way of knowing what Q’s number was, which meant he could avoid Q’s call but also couldn’t know whether he was a telemarketer or not. In this day and age, a lot of people let their phones ring to voicemail in order to weed out the important calls from the spam. Q could send an email instead, but Mr. Bond didn’t seem like the type to check his inbox all that often. Granted, Mr. Bond couldn’t be _that_ much older than Q, but they were of different generations and who knew how tech-savy Mr. Bond was, or even how much time he had, or how much he cared. If his work wasn’t related to computers, Q doubted the man paid it that much attention.

Maybe Q was just overanalyzing this. After all, Mr. Bond would want to know if Q planned on taking care of his daughter from now on, probably as soon as possible. But that begged the question: would Q say yes or no?

His first thought was to reject the offer and do his best to help Mr. Bond and Natalya find a nanny service they could both bear. As a teacher, his students’ home life may be a concern but ultimately not his responsibility.

His second thought… was how much he loved seeing Natalya happy. Her father, as well, shared her bright smile and unguarded eyes. Natalya was such a good student, one he was sure would grow up to be a lovely and intelligent girl, if a bit shy. He wanted to do everything in his power to help her grow into the young woman she could be.

His third… was how lonely he was. His flat sat in constant silence, a stark contrast to his days listening to and balancing out the demands of sixteen children all at once. Q nearly hated the quiet, even if he often resigned himself to the familiarity of it and it often helped him work without distraction. Even Oscar was not a vocal cat, and if he was being honest he couldn’t keep bothering Eve so often. His one sided conversations were sad and almost pitiful in retrospect. He was a bachelor, yes, but he was almost isolating himself.

Q sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose where his glasses weighed down on him throughout the day. He could feel the shallow imprints in the skin, and deliberately ignored the ache behind his eyes. If he took Natalya on not only as a student, but as a ward of sorts, then he’d be responsible for her, and he’d be working longer hours which might be heaven for his student loans, but hell on his health. He wondered if he would still be able to keep up with his gradework and his lesson plans if Natalya was often with him.

And where would this be happening? Would Q be invited into the Bond household, or would Natalya see where Q lived and that his kitchen sink leaked if you turned it too far to the left. Q didn’t know which he preferred, wanting to stay in the comfort of his own home, but also making it as easy for Natalya as he could manage. And his flat was his sanctuary, perhaps he didn’t want anyone seeing the inside just yet.

He tapped the last number and prompted the phone to connect and ring before he could change his mind. It was nearly 8:30 now, even later than he had been hoping for when he first started to call, and he had nothing to blame but his own indecision.

“James Bond speaking,” came the voice from the other end of the line, and Q nearly forgot how to breathe. After a few seconds, Mr. Bond said, “hello?”

“Oh! Uh, yes, Mr. Bond, this is Mr. Q,” said Q, imagining how easy it would be to slip his own foot into his mouth and leave it there for safe keeping.

“Mr. Quintessant, I was hoping you’d call. How are you this evening?” asked Bond, and Q thanked every deity he knew that the man had more social grace than Q would in his lifetime.

“I’m well, thank you,” said Q, and cleared his throat before daring to continue. “I’m calling about Natalya,” he said.

“Is this about something that happened in class, or about my offer to you?” asked Bond.

“Oh no, the offer. Natalya’s been an absolute angel this past month, I’ll have you know. But, um, yes, the offer. I’m calling to tell you…”

“Yes?”

“I… I would be happy to arrange something with you, for Natalya’s sake,” he said, bracing for the worst like he wasn’t giving the man exactly what he wanted.

“Mr. Quintessant if you had said that in person I just might have kissed you,” said Bond, laughter in his voice. Q sucked in a breath and pretended that didn’t affect him at all. He couldn’t respond before Bond pushed forward. “Since I have no desire to snog my cellphone, I will settle for thanking you profusely.”

“It’s not a problem, Mr. Bond,” said Q, trying to fight past his embarrassment.

“Still, thank you, you have no idea how much this means to me, to Natalya too. She’ll be so excited when I tell her,” he said, and Q smiled to himself. “It’s getting late,” said Bond, “we can work out the details tomorrow morning and afternoon, if we need, how does that sound?”

“That sounds fine,” said Q, and he most certainly did not grin when Mr. Bond exclaimed, very enthusiastically, how wonderful Q was.

“Goodnight, Mr. Quintessant, I hope you sleep well,” said Bond.

“Goodnight, Mr. Bond, see you in the morning,” said Q. When the line went dead, Q quickly saved Mr. Bond’s number into his contacts and pretended it didn’t matter to him as much as it did. It wasn’t as if Bond had _given_ him the number for any unprofessional reasons.

Q cleaned his dirty dishes from for the day and set them to dry, then slipped into his sleepwear and grabbed the book he had been slowly working through for the few weeks. It barely took his mind off his life, and Mr. Bond and his daughter, but the characters were interesting and it held his interest well enough. It wasn’t the author’s fault Q was quickly becoming more and more enamored with the Bond family, and less and less interested in the storyline. He fell asleep that night with Oscar warming his toes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be busy again this weekend, so hopefully this will tide you over until Monday/Tuesday. Unless inspiration strikes and I feel like finding an open bar with free Wifi in order to upload it.


	7. Staring Into Open Flame

Q didn’t know what he was expecting the next morning, but Natalya and Mr. Bond waiting for him was not one of them. They weren’t waiting in front of the building, thankfully, nor did they corner him in the hallway. He might not have even noticed if not for how close Eve’s classroom was to his own.

It was nearly seven thirty when he started worrying about their absence enough to seek Eve out as a distraction. When he neared her doorway, he froze. Eve was laughing in her usual charming way and he could hear Mr. Bond chuckling along with her. He had heard Mr. Bond laugh before, of course, a soft but deep chuckle that lit up his face. Natalya was the one who always made her father laugh in such a way, which is what Q expected was the case here. He snuck a peek through the doorway, thankful to find their backs turned, and watched long enough to take in the entire picture before turning back.

He made sure his footsteps were as quiet and quick as possible on his way back to his room, and cracked the door behind him so the latch wouldn’t make a sound to alert them. It was doubtful they’d be paying attention enough to notice, but Q didn’t want to disturb them. Q knew Eve was aiming for a romance with Mr. Bond because she confessed her enthusiasm towards the man over the phone. And Q wanted her to be careful, but he also wanted her to be happy. However, Eve wasn’t Natalya’s teacher, it wasn’t like she had any power over Natalya’s grades like Q might, so there was no real conflict of interest should the two begin to date. Mr. Bond and Ever could date in the same way the Mr. Bond and Q could not.

Q and Eve as a couple was more likely, if Q was being honest. It was as his mother had always told him, you couldn’t be gay and make a name for yourself. And you certainly couldn’t teach children. He’d be fired on the spot if Mallory ever knew. And approaching Mr. Bond, who Q guessed to be incredibly traditional and conservative, would prove equally disastrous. Mr. Bond would file a complaint, if not violently rebuff him as many aggressively straight and sensitively masculine men were known to do, and have Natalya removed from Q’s classroom, and then maybe even cost Q his job on top of that.

No, no, Eve and Mr. Bond would make a lovely couple, even if there would be a somewhat unorthodox age gap, and Natalya liked Eve well enough already. With more time she’d come to love Eve, as Q himself had at university despite his strictly anti-social attitude, and maybe even welcome her into the family as a stepmother.

The thought of Eve and Mr. Bond marrying made his stomach twist in the worst way. Q stubbornly pretended it was because he didn’t want to lose Eve to the inevitable stay at home house-wife role that many upper-class women—and she _would_ be upper-class, if she married into the Bond household—embraced once they found a husband and gave him a few heirs for his corporate empire. Eve was an excellent teacher, and he had no doubt she would be an excellent mother to Natalya and any siblings the couple chose to give her.

He was not jealous of her budding relationship with Mr. Bond. As Natalya’s teacher, he had to keep a professional relationship with the man, and if Eve getting involved was what it took to stamp out any stuttering of his own heart, then Q would happily suffer the temporary heartache. It wasn’t as if he and Mr. Bond were involved in any sort of way, which would make it far easier to forget him. And after another 8 months or so, Natalya would no longer be his student and they’d never have to see each other again. He could visit Eve when she said her husband was out and she was bored, and he’d babysit Natalya for them if they ever wanted to go out for the night.

Q was a teacher, and he was Eve’s friend. He was satisfied with his lot in life.

Q knew he would go home and drink his loneliness away.

It was quarter of eight when Mr. Bond and Natalya made their way to his room. Q looked up and gave them his best smile, quickly voicing his excitement about the day he had planned and how much he hoped Natalya would have fun as well. Mr. Bond waited until his daughter had settled at her desk and opened a book before approaching and greeting Q.

“Mr. Quintessant,” said Bond, “good morning. It’s almost a relief to see you this morning, after last night’s phone call.”

Q tilted his head and said, “Good morning to you as well, Mr. Bond. Did you think I wouldn’t show up to my own classroom?”

“I had my doubts, especially when you weren’t here when we arrived,” said Bond. “I see those doubts were misplaced, however.”

“I was here at seven,” said Q, frowning somewhat. He thought it best not to mention that he had known where they were for most of his wait, or even that he worried when he hadn’t yet known.

Mr. Bond studied his face carefully and Q refused to squirm under the evaluation. “You must excuse us, then,” said Bond, “when we arrived the door was still closed and the light was off. Ms. Moneypenny offered us use of her room while we waited.”

“It’s quite alright. She makes for excellent company, does she not?” said Q, forcing himself to smile at the man. “I’m happy you both weren’t left waiting on the doorstep.”

“Yes she does,” said Bond, returning his smile with one far more dazzling. Q forced himself to look away, glancing over at Natalya. His gaze brought Mr. Bond’s attention back to his daughter and away from the woman who was secretly—or not so secretly—trying to seduce him. “We need to talk about tonight,” said Bond.

Q fixed his glasses and nodded. “What time do you get off from work? School ends at three, but I’d been leaving at five before Natalya was my student. Where… am I to bring her to your house? Should I keep her here?”

“What do you feel most comfortable with?”

“Honestly, I enjoy being able to go home and relax after work, get off my feet and all that. But I don’t think it’s professional to take her to my flat when I leave, and I understand that many parents wouldn’t appreciate that idea regardless. Babysitters traditionally come to you, correct?”

“Then bring her to our home,” said Bond. “I’ll be home around eight or nine.” His eyes moved away from Q to his desk, and he moved behind it with movements smoother than Q could dream up. Eve would have a field day if Q ever told her what movements he dreamt up, if he was being honest. Mr. Bond moved with a certain grace; it wasn’t Q’s fault if he always stared and converted it to memory.

Bond took a pen to a sheet of lined paper, beginning to write in quick, swooping cursive that Q found was common in blue-blooded folk. It looked incredibly elegant, and his hand curled around one of Q’s pens was not something Q thought he would want to see until now.

“Here’s my address, the code to the security, the name of the gate guard in case I forget to call and tell them you’re coming. I’ll leave my mother’s number just in case something happens or you decide you can’t handle it all at once. Supper’s in the fridge, heat it up in the oven and serve it by six. She can watch an hour of telly beforehand, but homework starts after dinner. She’s usually good about doing most of it before supper, and you being her teacher will know what she had due anyways, so that shouldn’t be an issue,” said Bond, jotting down key points as he spoke.

He paused, and glanced at up Q. “I give her a bath at 7 and then read to her until 8, then she’s put to bed. Make sure to check on her after that, because she has a habit of sneaking a book under her blankets and reading with a torch,” said Bond, searching Q’s face for any signs of trepidation. “If you fill the tub she can bathe herself without much issue, just make sure you’re in earshot in case she slips. Make her talk or sing to you since you won’t have eyes on her. I do that if I have to leave the room. She’ll probably prefer the privacy: she’s been trying to kick me out for a while now.”

Q nodded, thankful Bond was writing some of it down. He had an excellent memory, of course, but he’d be so nervous about doing things wrong that he’d end up reading that note like scripture and taking it all to heart. Today was a trial, he knew, both for him but also Natalya and maybe even Mr. Bond himself. They needed to see if this could work, if Natalya was okay with Q invading her home life and breaking out of the ‘teacher’ mold, if Q could handle the responsibility and the new weight on his shoulders, if Mr. Bond could trust Q to do his best and undoubtedly make a mess of it a few times.

“She’s okay with it, right?” asked Q, glancing over his shoulder to Natalya. Bond looked at his daughter and his eyes warmed, a smile curving the corners of his mouth. “You told her about it?”

“Yes, I told her. I asked her if she was comfortable with it. This morning, actually, and she was so excited she wanted to skip breakfast. That’s why we were here early; she rushed through everything just to see you sooner,” said Bond, shaking his head fondly as he finished writing something down.

“Good, that’s good, she needs to know she’s got a say in all of this. It involves her just as much as it involves us,” said Q.

“She’s always responded well to respect,” said Bond.

“Most children do,” said Q, speaking from experience.

Bond smiled directly at him and folded the paper in half before handing it to him. “You have my cell number, if you absolutely need it. I can’t guarantee I’ll answer right away, but I’ll try to call you back as soon as I can.” Q nodded in understanding, holding his instructions in both hands as if the paper was something precious that could break if jostled. “I’m glad we’re trying this out now, next week I have a business trip I can’t get out of that will keep me away for a few days, and I do so hate shoving her onto her grandmother without asking her if she wants to go,” said Bond.

Q stared at him for a moment before the words registered, then he fixed his glasses too quickly and practically poke himself in the eye. “Business trip? You mean-”

“We’ll talk about that later. First, just try it out for today,” said Bond, and Q felt very much like he was being soothed like a skittish animal. He found he didn’t very much mind it; Bond’s voice was low and very calming.

“Yes,” said Q, recovering. “I have high hopes,” he confessed, and Bond smiled at him, blue eyes dancing with amusement.

“You’ll do wonderfully,” said Bond, placing a hand on Q’s shoulder to draw him in and kiss his cheek. Q froze up, but Bond seemed to pay it no mind. He squeezed Q’s shoulder, “Have some faith in yourself, Mr. Quintessant,” he said. He let Q go, and it was only then that Q began to breathe again. “And have a good day.”

“Uh- yes, see you tonight, Mr. Bond,” he said, and the man winked at him before moving to his daughter and giving her a cheerful goodbye. Q stared at the back of Mr. Bond’s head, wondering he had started hallucinating. The man had to be joking, of course. Mr. Bond seemed like an easy-going man, so Q could understand if he thought nothing of close touches and teasing behaviour. Mr. Bond was probably the exact type of man Q used to avoid at Uni just to keep himself from falling too hard for a flirtatious yet painfully straight frat guy.

“Mr. Q? Are you alright?” Natalya asked, knowing him out of his reverie.

He blinked like someone with sudden light in their eyes. “Oh, yes, excuse me, Natalya,” he said, “just thinking about the afternoon we have planned together.”

She took the bait, like Q guessed she would, and she started off on a new tangent on how much fun they were going to have and how she could show him around her house and he could even see all the books she had read since she learned to, proudly displayed on their own bookcase in her room.

Q would have to wait until Mr. Bond got home in order to excuse himself and find the drink he desperately needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly longer chapter to make up for the wait. Are you guys ready to see the Bond house? It sounds big and fancy, in my opinion. The plot should be picking up soon as well, so hang in there.


	8. Something In It Had a Power

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd, and thus all silly little mistakes are my own. Whoops~

 Q didn’t know if he dreaded the end of the school day or not. Butterflies overtook his stomach whenever he thought about his plans for the afternoon and evening, and Q wasn’t used to that. Similarly, Natalya often shot him beaming smiles in spare moments throughout the day. The class was so forgiving of his absentmindedness as well. He almost forgot to send them to lunch, and then tried to lead them into a math lesson they had learned the week before. Q was all over the place; he was thankful he didn’t teach older, more ruthless, students.

When the rest of his students filed out of the room, Q saw Natalya take her seat and pull out a book. He paused, then said, “Do you want to play outside? I could use a bit of fresh air myself.”

Natalya grinned and Q led her outside after all the other students. Some of them were still on the playground waiting for their parents. After about ten minutes they were alone save for a few stragglers. He pushed some of them on the swings and chased when they egged him into it. It was a bit of an unfair fight: Q had very little regular physical activity and thus he was painfully outmatched. He dropped onto one of the nearby benches to gather himself, waving goodbye to the few of them whose parents had been watching and laughing at the spectacle.

Natalya bounced beside him on their way up the stairs, chatting nonstop. “When are we going home, Mr. Q? Daddy says I can show you around and to tell you everything you need to know, and that we can even use the oven to bake a cake if you’re feeling up to it! Are you feeling up to it, Mr. Q?”

Q had only the barest knowledge on cake baking but he said, “We can make a cake if that’s what you want to do, Natalya, there’s no reason we can’t. We’ll stay at school until 4 so I can get a bit of work done, then we’ll head to your house, how does that sound? Do you still have your choice reading book?”

“I can’t wait, Mr. Q! I’ve never had supper with one of my teachers before!” She said, and Q had to chuckle a bit. It would feel odd for them both, no doubt.

“I can’t say that I’ve eaten dinner with one of my students either,” he said, opening the door to his classroom. She went to her desk, as usual, and he took a seat behind his own. Natalya pulled out some of the homework he assigned that day, and the hour passed silently between them.

Q nearly forgot himself, only noticing the time when his stomach began to growl too loudly for him to ignore. It was automatic for him to stand and move to the cabinet that held his snacks, only to pause with his hand hovering over the handle. He looked over his shoulder to check the clock. “Natalya, are you ready to head home?” He asked, as it was just past four and he had a feeling she had been waiting for him to say something.

She proved him right when she shouldered her book bag, already packed and ready to go, and grinned at him. Q fought the sheepish look that overtook his face and set about packing up his own things. They were out the door in a few short minutes, and Natalya could barely contain her excitement. “I’ve never been underground before, Mr. Q,” she said, holding his hand as he led her down the street.

“I take the tube every day,” he said, smiling down at her before crossing the road with the light and the throng of people. “Just stick close to me and don’t let go of my hand, alright? I promise it’s not at all scary,” he said.

“I’m not scared at all,” she said proudly, and Q believed her. She was brave through the entire commute, or perhaps too young to have lost the sense of invincibility children grew out of. Q had lost that false sense very early, prone to too many accidents as a clumsy children to forget his own mortality. Schoolyard bullies also played a part in his humility; he hoped Natalya had avoided them thus far and for as long as she could.

Q had taken the time to google the street Mr. Bond had given him for an address for the dual purpose of knowing what station to get off on and knowing what to expect. It was an incredibly wealthy neighborhood, and Q had to wonder what exactly Mr. Bond did for a living. It wasn’t his business, of course, and given the fact his daughter was enrolled in a costly private school gave Q some presumptions in the first place, but he was still curious. “What kind of work does your father do, Natalya? Does he ever give you any details?”

Natalya tilted her head as they walked. “Daddy works for Nana. We live in Nana’s house too, and I even have the best room!”

“That’s awful nice of her,” said Q, willing to follow her on her tangent to keep her occupied as they walked towards their neighborhood.

“Mhm, and Daddy helped me glue glow-in-the-dark stars to my ceiling so I won’t need a nightlight anymore!”

“That’s brilliant,” said Q, genuinely impressed. After all, he knew how to handle kids in an educational setting, but he only had rough ideas on home life.

“Daddy has a lot of smart ideas, but only when he’s not trying.”

“Oh?” said Q, and she began to giggle with him.

“Oh Mr. Q, this is our gate!” said Natalya, pointing to a tall gate that cut off their neighborhood from the outside world. She led him forward, nearly dragging him in her excitement, and called out. “Arnold! Arnold this is Mr. Q, he’s my teacher and he’s babysitting me today!”

An elderly man popped his head out of the side of the security box, and a soft smile broke out on his face at the sight of them. “Miss Natalya, you’re home early, and with company too. Is your father working late again?”

“Yes, Arnold. This is Mr. Q! He’s my teacher!”

Q, despite fearing looking like a kidnapper of some strange sort, shook Arnold’s hand when it was offered. “Mr. Bond asked me to watch over her when his work keeps him from picking her up on time.”

“You’re the newest nanny, then?” And the old man winked, softening his statement. Q chose not to look into, and instead smiled down at Natalya.

“Of a sort, yes, I guess I am,” he said.

“Well, we’re happy to have you, Mr. Q,” said Arnold, leaning back into the box and turning a key.

The gate creaked open and they said their goodbyes, and Q was struck by how domestic their neighborhood appeared. A few of the neighbors milled around in their lawns, gardening or relaxing on their porches. A few of them waved to Natalya, but otherwise made no move to be exceptionally neighborly. Q hoped it wasn’t his presence that was putting them off.

Natalya led him straight up to a pristine brick house with white trim and a two car garage. Q nearly stumbled on the doorstep, but Natalya already had the door open and reminded him to punch the alarm code in to reset it. “Are you hungry?” he asked, in lieu of finding someplace to put his bag.

Natalya toed off her shoes by the door, “I’d like some apple slices, and then we can explore!” she said. He nodded, following her example with his own shoes, then headed to the door he assumed led to the kitchen. Their kitchen was far larger than his own and it even opened to an outdoor eating area. Natalya opened the glass double door and beckoned him outside. “This is our yard! Daddy and me are out here all the time on weekends,” she said, and Q nodded as he looked over the decorative plants and the small playground. It seemed like the perfect place for any child to spend their free time, and he was glad she had the opportunity.

He grabbed an apple and she let them stand still long enough for him to find a knife and cut them both an equal amount of slices. Then she was off, tugging Q away from the counter with one hand in his and the other holding her snack. “I’ve got to show you the upstairs!”

The staircase angled to the right, the kind Q would have run up on all fours when he was a child, and brought them to a landing upstairs. Natalya pointed to the door at the end of the hall and said, “that’s Daddy’s room, I’m not allowed to go in their if he’s not home.” She snuck a glance up at Q and whispered, “sometimes I do anyways because his bed is so big.” Q chuckled, but she was already moving on.

Two doors sat across from each other. “That’s the bathroom,” she said, pointing to the left one, “and that’s my bedroom! Oh, and that’s Uncle Alec’s room, but mine’s the best! Daddy even gave me a room bigger than Uncle Alec’s!”

Natalya tugged him forward and hopped onto her own bed, gesturing wildly to everything decorating her walls and various bookshelves. Finally, after copious agreements on how “awesome” her room truly was, Natalya returned to munching on her apple. “This is wonderful, Natalya. Now, could you show me to a place I could work while you relax?”

“You can sit in the dining room with me as I do my homework,” she said, sliding off her bed and leading him back downstairs. They sat in relative silence once again, and even though the unfamiliar settings kept Q from completely concentrating, he could admit to feeling at peace in their home. It was big and bright, with high ceilings and large windows in every room. Q felt comfortable working in such an environment, and Natalya seemed at home as well. Despite the partial absence of her father, and the presumably complete absence of her mother, Q thought she was doing quite well. Children were adaptable like that.

“Mr. Q, it’s six o’clock,” said Natalya, and Q was startled to find that yes, it was.

“Oh shoot, forgive me, I’ll heat up dinner right away,” he said, making for the kitchen. The last thing he needed was Mr. Bond hearing of how his daughter went hungry because of Q’s absentmindedness. “I’m not used to eating so early,” admitted Q.

“When do you usually eat, Mr. Q?”

“Around eight,” he said, and saw her frown. “That’s when you go to bed, isn’t it? Well, I’m up quite a bit later than you are, so don’t you worry.”

“But you’re up in time for school. You should sleep more, Mr. Q, even Daddy thinks so,” she said.

“What did Dad- I mean,” he fixed his glasses, “I do look tired on most days. It’s just my complexion, don’t you worry,” he said, only half lying to her.

“Sleep is important for your health, Mr. Q,” she said, and Q smiled because it sounded exactly like something Mr. Bond would say.

“I know, it’s just as important as breakfast,” he said, setting her plate down in front of her. She started off on a tale of how her father makes her breakfast every morning, which Q may or may not have counted on to distract her. He smiled and nodded along, even laughing once or twice, but ultimately he was the audience in this scenario.

“I’ll be okay if you just sit at the door,” she said to him, and he wondered if his look of fear towards their tub was that obvious. It was a beautiful tub, to be fair, separate from the shower and resting on antique clawed feet, but he held no love for it.

“Alright, just talk to me, alright?” he said.

“Of course, Mr. Q,” she said, and he left the room so she could undress. He sat near the doorway, leaving the door open and listening to the water splash gently as she sat down and began to wash herself.

“What’s your favourite thing about school, Natalya?” he asked, figuring it was a good neutral ground to start on.

“Recess is fun,” she said, and he heard her drop something to the bottom of the tub. “But I really like the library, I wish I had one like that.”

“Why do you like the library?”

“All the books, of course! Mr. Q, can you imagine owning so many? Where would you put them all? Daddy would never let me buy so many,” she said.

“Don’t say that, I’m sure he would. You already have an impressive collection started, why not add to it?”

She giggled and he could hear the pride in her voice when she said, “I’m running out of shelf space, I think Daddy will have to make me a bigger bookcase. He promised me I could put books in his study when I’m older, but I’m absolutely not allowed up there when’s he not home, and he never forgets to unlock the door,” she said, sounding almost sad. “You should convince him to show you, Mr. Q, I love Daddy’s study. Full of old books and maps. Sometimes he even lets me play on his laptop,” she said.

“I’ll make sure to bring it up with him,” he promised, listening to her as she continued to talk. She listed her favourite books, what book she wanted to read next, what book(s) she was currently reading, and lasted all the way up until she stepped out of the tub and wrapped herself up in a towel. Q stood, but did not turn and look into the bathroom. “Are you all set?” he asked, knowing she had grabbed her pajamas beforehand and was very much capable of dressing herself.

“Yes, I’m alright,” she said. “Would you read to me, Mr. Q? Daddy always does.”

“Of course,” said Q, standing and following her to her room. “Which one?” he asked, folding the blankets over her.

“Top shelf, Daddy’s in the middle of the Goblet of Fire,” she said.

“Harry Potter was one of my favourite series when I was your age,” he said, and for some reason felt quite old. She giggled and they both settled in to reading.

She had finally dozed off when he heard the door open and close downstairs. He heard keys land in the glass key bowl, and promptly tucked Natalya in and closed her door behind him so the noise wouldn’t disturb her. Creeping down the stairs proved harder than he anticipated, despite the carpet, because Mr. Bond met him halfway up and they were stuck there.

“Mr. Quintessant, I’d say I’m happy to see you but it seems someone turned off all the bloody lights,” said Mr. Bond. Q almost snorted, and instead fixed his glasses. There was light coming from the bottom of the stairs, but the corner cut it before it could fully reach them, leaving in a faint warm glow.

“I’d say the same, Mr. Bond, except you always seem to show up when I least expect it. It puts me at a bit of a disadvantage,” he said, only half trying to keep his tone from straying into flirty territory.

“This _is_ my home, Mr. Quintessant, you’d be foolish _not_ to expect me here,” said Bond.

“And yet, we’re stuck on a staircase with no lights on,” said Q.

Mr. Bond hummed thoughtfully, “reminds me a bit of secondary school, if I’m being honest. I used to sneak up these very steps after curfew,” he said. After a brief pause, he continued, “come upstairs with me.”

Q froze, mind jumping to all the wrong places. “What?” he said, pushing his glasses up his nose and thanking whatever made him think it’d be a good idea to turn off all the lights upstairs.

“I want see Natalya,” said Bond.

“Oh! Yes, of course,” said Q, and then immediately turned and started climbing the stairs. “She’s probably asleep by now,” he warned.

“And you had no issues this afternoon?” asked Bond.

“She was an angel,” said Q, stepping aside so Bond could enter his daughter’s room alone.

After a few minutes, he reemerged, and Q imagined a smile was on his face. “I’m afraid I can’t drive you home, Mr. Quintessant,” he said, instead of anything Q had been hoping for. Q recovered remarkably quickly, despite how tired he was.  

“I figured, it’d be unwise to leave her alone,” said Q.

“We’ll work something out, I promise,” said Bond, and Q shrugged even though he couldn’t see the response.

“I have no problem taking the tube home, just now it’ll be from a different station,” said Q.

“I can at least walk you to the door,” said Bond, and Q started for the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO MANY. Like at least 2x as long, right? Right..? I hope this makes up for the wait.


	9. Could Barely Tear My Eyes Away

Mr. Bond had seen him off at the door, leaning against the doorframe to watch him walk down the street towards the gate. Q appreciated the heavy gaze on his back, feeling a bit safer with someone knowing where he was and where he was going. The gatekeeper, Arnold, was gone when he walked through so Q figured the gate opened only with key codes after certain hours.

Q was tempted to call Mr. Bond to tell him he made it home safe. In the end he decided Mr. Bond probably wasn’t all that concerned, and instead set about unpacking his bag and preparing for a few hours of grading. He didn’t get to bed until midnight and resigned himself to a long day the next morning. Parent-teacher conferences started in two days, and he had yet to warn Mr. Bond that he couldn’t watch Natalya for any of the three afternoons they spread throughout. He, thankfully, only had 14 students, and he’d be taking hour-long sessions, one per student, from 3-8 every day until he had met with all the parents. Of course, Mr. Bond was scheduled for one of those slots, but he had no idea if the man would make it or not.

He felt like death when he awoke, but it was nothing a strong cup of tea couldn’t alleviate. The dark circles under his eyes he could do nothing about, short of buying a bit of makeup and asking Eve to rescue him. So he trudged to school and pumped himself up by listening to positively jittery electronic music, and thanked god he had left his classroom neat and tidy the day before. Eve popped in to say her hellos and comment on his exhausted appearance which, of course, led to an intrusive conversation on _what_ had kept him up.

“I babysat Natalya yesterday until Mr. Bond was out of work around eight,” he said, laying out lesson plans on his desk. “She was asleep by the time he got home,” he added.

Eve, as expected of her sharp mind and quick wit, misconstrued his words for her own enjoyment. “My my, Q, you move so fast! Already playing house, are you? You sneaky bastard,” she said, giggling to herself as she sat on his desk.

Dread crawled up Q’s spine. “It’s not like that, Eve,” he said. “I’m only helping him take care of his daughter, nothing more.”

“Oh is that what they’re calling it nowadays? Sounds obscene,” she said.

“Eve,” he snapped, too tired to tolerate her. For Eve, beautifully straight and appropriately flirtatious in certain circles of company, this was something to be joked about. For Q, it meant risking his reputation and his career. At her wide-eyed stare, Q dropped his eyes to his shoes and said, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“You’re tired, I understand,” she said, reaching out and patting his arm gently.

“Could we perhaps not talk about Mr. Bond in such a way? My relationship with him is purely professional… and anything else could land me in hot water.”

“Sure thing, Q, but you know if it were me, I wouldn’t be wasting that fine ass on anything less,” she said, hopping off his desk and headed towards the door. “Nor would I be leaving poor Mr. Bond all alone, he probably goes through a lot of trouble just to find time to flirt with you all the time, after all.”

Q blushed hotly and pushed his glasses up his nose. Eve was just being presumptuous, he knew, but the idea still affected him. “It’s nothing like that!” he said, his throat dry, “I said it was professional!”

“There’s nothing unprofessional about two beautiful men dirtying up some nice, white, cotton sheets. I’d love to watch; Mr. Bond seems like the type to do well with an audience,” she said, winking at him over her shoulder. She had just closed his door behind her and taken a few steps towards her own classroom when he heard her say, “oh good morning, Mr. Bond! He’s already here, yes. It was lovely to see you again.”

Q froze up for a split second, then resumed what he was doing just as the doorknob turned. He turned his back on the door, hoping to disguise his blush. There was only a minimal chance Mr. Bond had not heard what Eve had been saying, very loudly and towards the direction of the hall. There was no way in hell it had been planned, as Eve was not that cruel to him and hopefully not that reckless, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t hurt him anyways.

“Goodmorning, Mr. Q!” Q turned and gave her a smile, engaging her in conversation about her morning before she wriggling out of her father’s arms and escaped to her desk.

It took Q a bit of effort to meet Mr. Bond’s eyes, and when he did, the man was staring directly at him. He didn’t look incredibly angry or disgusted, but that might be for his daughter’s sake. Q stopped breathing but forced himself to say, “Good morning, Mr. Bond.”

“You didn’t call me last night,” said Bond, and it was Q’s turn to stare. They stood in silence, Q’s mouth slightly agape, for a few beats.

“Pardon?” Q said, once he found his voice again.

“To tell me you got home safe,” said Bond, as if that explained everything.

Q frowned. “I’m sorry for worrying you? I’m a grown man, there isn’t much risk of me not making it home no matter how late I leave,” he said, a small of bite making it into his voice. He was a schoolteacher, which was hardly considered a masculine profession, but he hoped just because he could ‘play house’ as Eve had said and take care of children didn’t prompt Bond to treat him like a sheltered housewife. Not matter what Eve said, Q did not want any sort of co-dependent relationship with Bond, or anyone else for that matter.

Mr. Bond’s eyes opened from the hard stare he held. “I apologize for presuming,” he said, “but it was quite late, and London isn’t safe for anyone after dark. If anything were to happen…”

“I will make sure to tell you when I get home safely,” said Q, offering up his warmest smile. It was _slightly_ flattering, even if Q had no idea what sparked it. Maybe Mr. Bond worked with the security division of the government and, therefore, was well aware of the statistics. Maybe he was just a worrier, despite his calm appearance.

“Thank you, also good morning to you as well, Mr. Quintessant. It’s strange to think I saw you less than twelve hours ago,” said Bond, grinning a bit now that the tension had left their conversation.

Q chuckled in response, then sobered suddenly. “Oh, I just remembered. Parent teacher conferences start tomorrow, you’ll have to arrange another babysitter for Natalya if you can’t make it at the normal pick-up time.”

“I figured as much,” said Bond, “her grandmother is going to watch over her.”

“Will you have time to make it to your own appointment with me? We can reschedule, if needed,” said Q, knowing on a personal level how busy Mr. Bond was.

“I’ve cleared my schedule for Friday afternoon just for her. A close friend of mine will be staying with us for a while starting this weekend and Natalya can wait to drag him all around London,” said Bond, shifting to his other foot as he looked over to his daughter. She was hard at work on some homework Q assumed was due tomorrow, given how dedicated she was to her studies.

“Do you still need me next week, then?” asked Q, uncertain if Mr. Bond would still be going on a work trip with his friend visiting, or if said friend was trusted enough to look after Natalya while her father was busy.

“It’d be very much appreciated,” said Bond, “Alec isn’t exactly the most reliable chap outside of life or death situations.”

“Ahh,” said Q, because he had nothing else to say in reply. “Well, I’d be happy to.”

“That’s a love,” said Bond, but instead of leaning in to kiss him like Q had expected—had anticipated—he simply patted Q’s shoulder and moved to his daughter’s side to kiss her goodbye. “I’ll see you both at eight tonight?” he asked, looking back at Q for confirmation. Next to him, Natalya was openly excited, and Q knew he couldn’t disappoint her.

Q nodded, pushing his glasses up his nose. Natalya whooped for joy, and began to babble about all the fun things they could do that afternoon. Mr. Bond was looking at him with a terrible fondness, and Q nearly drowned underneath his gaze. He couldn’t handle this much longer. He’d have to go out over the weekend, fuck a stranger to get some relief, and then pretend his attraction to Mr. Bond wasn’t ruining him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short update today. And for the record, I really love Hozier.


	10. All You Have Is Your Fire

Going out on the weekends always took a bit of extra planning. He had to work quickly to make sure he could spare a few hours to get drunk and have some meaningless sex, and also nurse his hangover the morning after. The only way to quiet his fears was to go all the way across London and find a stranger who didn’t need a name to take him home for a few hours. Sometimes they settled for a hotel. Sometimes they left bruises on his hips and smoked in bed afterward. Sometimes they didn’t even wake up when he left in the morning without a goodbye. Sometimes they were genuinely upset to see him go—they were the hardest deal with and by far the scariest.

Q didn’t want a relationship with anyone, least of all someone who went out and had sex with stranger. Even if they weren’t doing it for the same reasons as he, there had to be an equal amount of desperation on some level. Anyone who could maintain a healthy relationship probably wasn’t getting drunk at a club on Saturday nights. And if they were, Q didn’t feel like playing the mistress for some douchebag. If there was anyone outside of both of those nets and he met them, then he might consider. Then again, he was being hypocritical and using his own loneliness as justification. Why would anyone want to date him in the first place?

And so brought Q to another problem: even _he_ wouldn’t want to date himself. He was pitiful, doing this at least once a month despite it never getting better. He was treating the symptoms, not the source, of his problem. Take your pick on which childhood trauma or societal brainwashing had turned him into the mess he was as an adult; either way it wasn’t pretty. Eve had been telling him to see a professional for years now, but even as one of his best friends she had only scratched the surface with her years of observation. Q liked to think of himself as a _complex_ mess, at the very least. Layers upon layers of problems.

A complex mess that had used his years in university to perfect his “slutty twink” look, as Eve had called it. Eve had been a huge help in both finding his style, but also finding him an identifiable stereotype he could don and enjoy from time to time. Q normally hated homosexual stereotypes, but if it put his ass on display and kept him from going home lonely, then he would bear with it and hate himself later.

The nice weather was a definite plus for going out, so Q could stay casual in tight jeans and a long sleeve instead of being forced to bundle up in six layers. He never went anywhere else but here, except maybe one other club when this one wasn’t feeling like his thing. But, thankfully, that particular Saturday it was full from wall to wall and he could slip through the crowd without catching anyone’s eye. Q knew he’d need at least one drink before he could handle someone grinding up against him, and the bartender was one of his favourite people. Behind Eve. And maybe his mother, depending on how badly Q needed a drink and which one of them was closer.

His usual burned his throat on the way down but he shook his head and thought of all the benefits of being drunk that very moment. He drank another, then refused a third in favour of turning his attention to the floor and trying to find someone in his league who would suit his purposes. Overthinking it now wouldn’t help him any, so he went with who caught his eye and didn’t scare him down to his core. Maybe he was paranoid, but he didn’t trust too many “types” of men in any club; playing it safe and avoiding those types would hopefully keep him out of trouble. He needed someone as detached as he, preferably with the same goal in mind.

The crowd swallowed him whole when he broke the tension of the outside ring and swam through its depths. He had made eye contact with someone suitable. Someone who looked interested without looking invested. It also helped that they also looked him up and down, and didn’t wobble on their feet with an intoxicating amount of alcohol in their veins. They were exceptionally attractive, but it didn’t matter; he’d forget their face once morning came if all went well.

He was intercepted before he could reach the middle of the floor, but not by who he had anticipated. This was potentially bad. Q didn’t do anything as obvious as twist away from the hand on his ass, but he did try to get a good look at the man’s face. There was a wicked looking scar covering the right side of his face that shouldn’t be as attractive as it was. Q kept himself from staring by looking the man up and down instead. It was safe to say the man was out of his league and definitely his type. Aka there was no reason for them to be interacting, unless he thought Q was desperate enough to do anything for someone as handsome as he was.

“I’m not sucking you off in the washroom,” said Q, in lieu of anything friendlier.

“Well that’s good, those rooms are fucking filthy,” said the man, and the grin on his face looked devilish. Q didn’t know if he was more turned on or scared, which didn’t bode well for him. Not only that, but Q was wearing dreadfully tight jeans that would not help him in this situation. “What’s your name?”

“Is that really important?” said Q, trying to be heard over the music.

The grin on the man’s face stayed even as he pressed close. “Then is it too soon to ask if you want to get out of here?”

“Not at all.”

* * *

There was a heavy leg draped over his hips when he woke up. Light was just beginning to creep in through the curtains and the clock on the nightstand read 7:21. Q withheld a groan and blinked, hoping to free himself from the throbbing in his head. The room was blissfully dark, which helped. Anyone else would roll over and try to sleep it off, but Q didn’t want to be around when his bed partner woke up. He didn’t want to see what type of morning after he was in store for so it was best to slip away at break of day, as it were.

Q rolled himself the best he could with so much added weight holding him down. The grip of the arm around his shoulders was loose, which was a small mercy. In fact, the man was more sprawled over him than holding him close, something Q might have found amusing if he saw it in a movie instead of experiencing it himself. He sighed and pushed both limbs off of him, and the man grunted and rolled onto his back to get away from Q’s prodding. Q braced for a confrontation but none came. He sighed with relief and then sat up.

His head spun, which wasn’t a good sign, but he could hardly take his time to gather his bearings or make a cup of tea to fight it out. Squinting to protect his already throbbing head and to be able to see enough to function, Q found his glasses on the nightstand next to the alarm clock. It was much easier to find his clothes after that.

He had no idea what neighborhood he was in, and couldn’t even tell which hotel they had returned to. Assuming the man was checked in already and therefore visiting lifting a great weight of worry from Q’s shoulders. Visiting businessmen were the best partners, never asking you to stay and never seeking you out. Q didn’t think about the possibilities of this man having a wife, nor could he allow himself to focus on the pleasant ache in his hips. While dressing he had noticed a few bruises sucked into the skin of his thighs; from a quick brush of a hand and the following sting he knew there were a few on his neck and collarbone as well. Possessive bastard, apparently, but Q suspected he had been enthusiastic about the rough treatment when it was happening.

He was slipping on his shirt from the day before which he found halfway across the room when he heard the man shift on the bed. Looking up, he found himself pinned in the stare of a very relaxed, very satisfied man. He watched the man lift his arms and place them behind his head, legs still sprawled underneath the sheets. Q could only imagine the easy confidence the pose might require.

“Leaving so soon?”

Q swallowed and found his mouth very dry. “I thought it best,” Q tried, voice rough and sex-scratched. Just like the man’s back, no doubt.

“Don’t rush out on my account,” said the man, looking Q up and down with obvious interest. Q found the display just a tad bit ridiculous.

“I have things to do today,” said Q, instead of ‘I don’t want any misunderstandings’.

The man smirked. “How about you stay, I fuck you one more time, then you can leave.”

“I don’t think-”

“I won’t even ask for your name this time.” Q narrowed his eyes and the man outright grinned in response. “You seemed to like it when I called you ‘boy’ anyways,” he added, and Q fixed his glasses to hide the heat tickling up his neck.

Q stood in the doorway, frozen as he thought through all the advantages and potential disasters that could come about from him extending his stay. The sex last night _had_ been amazing, after all, and it was rare that Q found a temporary partner who was so relaxed without being disinterested or cruel as well. The man seemed patient enough to let him think it through, which was another good sign.

When Q took a shaky step towards the bed, the man grinned with a blinding intensity. “That’s a good boy,” he said, and cast the sheet back with a lazy flick of his hand. “Come on up here,” he said, clearly not at all self-conscious being completely bare and on his back in front of a stranger. Q could only wonder what circumstances bred such confidence, or disregard, as he climbed onto the foot of the bed and crawled into the man’s lap.

“Fuck, I thought I had dreamt you up,” he said, one hand finding the side of Q’s neck and the other gripping his hip. “You’re even better when I’m sober,” he said, the hand on Q’s hip sliding around to his ass and squeezing. Q tipped his head back and allowed more bruises to flare to the surface of his throat, the man’s teeth catching once or twice. “Fucking perfect, aren’t you,” he said, tearing Q’s shirt away and thumbing over Q’s right nipple.

Q shuddered but otherwise said nothing, could barely catch enough breath to respond even if he wanted to. The man pulled down his zipper, and his mind went blissfully blank until the only thing that mattered was _more_ and how to get. When he latched his hands onto the man’s shoulders, the hold felt familiar and the man laughed a bit. He could feel last night’s marks underneath his fingertips and dug his nails in just to be petulant. The answering hiss and twist of their bodies was more than enough of a reaction for Q.


	11. And The Place You Need To Reach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for a small panic attack. You all knew it was coming anyways~

Q went home refreshed and woke up Monday morning feeling on top of the world. His weekend rendezvous had gone down without a hitch and he had walked away safe and sated. He could feel the hickeys the man left behind every time he turned his neck or took a particularly long step. His hips pulsed whenever he sat down heavily or for too long. Overall, Q called it a win and ignored the regret of not getting the man’s number for future meet ups. It was good, great even, but the man was just visiting and a potential attachment was too dangerous.

That didn’t mean he didn’t think about it the rest of the weekend. Q was a bit pathetic, but it _had_ been the best sex he had in a while, so no one would blame him if they knew. They’d be disgusted by his choice in bed partners, of course, given the fact they were both men, but he had a feeling the man who had down on him without hesitation wouldn’t be bothered by their judgement. Q wasn’t emotionally strong or sure enough for that kind of blatant disregard, but he did humour the idea of dating such confidence.

On some level, it reminded him a bit of Eve. But that wasn’t a connection Q wanted to make, not if he was going to use that night and morning for masturbatory material. He had never been attracted to Eve, romantically or sexually, and he doubted her image popping up while he was trying to rub one out in the shower would help him reach his destination. He vowed never to tell her about the man or the fantastic sex, at least until the associated arousal waned, in order not to involve her any more than he already had. Eve would undoubtedly ask about his weekend and he’d have to skirt around the details, but eventually he’d give in and tell the tale and she’d never let him live it down: Q had _never_ gone for a second round. Ever. With anyone. Not even in college, when the risk had also been too high to chance.

He walked into his classroom on Monday morning with a mug of fresh tea in his left hand and his bag slung over his shoulder. He may or may not have been humming to himself; he’d never admit to it. Parent-teacher conferences were over which meant his workload was reduced immensely, especially with the coming winter holiday. He’d get three weeks off for winter recess, and they’d resume in early January for the spring term. He was a bit behind on his grading, but Q didn’t think that’d be a major problem if he dedicated a few of his weekends to it.

Natalya and Mr. Bond entered around 7:30 looking refreshed and well-rested. If Q didn’t know any better, he’d say they had both gotten a bit of sun over the weekend as well. Their grins for him were identical, and Q answered them with one of his own. “Mr. Q!”

“Good morning, Mr. Quintessant,” said Bond, letting go of Natalya’s hand so she could launch herself at Q and latch onto his legs.

“Good morning to you, Mr. Bond,” he said, then leaned down to meet Natalya’s eyes and untangle her fingers from his slacks. “And how are you on this fine morning, Miss Natalya?”

She went off about everything they did that weekend with Uncle Alec and how the penguins at the zoo had eaten fish from her hand. She had decided they were now her favourite animal and had made her father buy her a book with facts about them. She was about to pull it out of her bag and explain their habitat to him when Bond placed his hand on her shoulder.

“I need to get to work, duckie. May I borrow Mr. Quintessant from you for a minute?” She pouted but nodded and went to her desk to properly unpack her bag. Bond turned to Q and smiled in apology. “Thank you for last week,” he said, “it really helped me out.”

“I said I would try, I wouldn’t go back on my word like that,” said Q, pushing his glasses up his nose and glancing between Bond and his daughter. “Do you need me again today?”

Mr. Bond looked at him for slightly too long before answering. “No, we should be fine. I cleared my afternoon so I could spend time with her and Alec again before I leave. Speaking of, would you willing to work Wednesday through Friday? My mother is taking her to our estate in Norfolk for the weekend.”

“Who will be watching her at night?”

“Alec agreed to curb his bad habits and stay in for a few days,” said Bond, chuckling a bit. “It also helped that I already told him you’d be there to watch her during the afternoons so he wouldn’t have to entertain a young child for three days straight. He’ll drop her off in the mornings too, but not nearly as early,” he said.

“Alright,” said Q, nodding to himself, “I can handle that. How long will you be away?”

Bond gave him a strange smile, one that Q could not read. “I should be back Monday. You’ll look after her that afternoon, yes?”

“I will, yes,” said Q, rubbing his arm absentmindedly. “Do you take trips like this regularly, Mr. Bond?”

“Only when I have to. I used to a lot when I was a younger man, but with Natalya’s mother out of the picture I’ve had to slow down and stay close. Perhaps when she’s a bit older I’ll be able to pick it up again,” he said, his hands in his pockets. “Then again, when she’s older, so will I be. I don’t move as fast as I used to, nor can I sleep as well in any mattress but my own,” he admitted.

Q nodded empathetically, even if he doubted Mr. Bond would be too old for his business when Natalya was a teenager. Then again, he had no idea how old Mr. Bond really was. He turned from watching Natalya to study the man’s profile, considering this. “How old are you, Mr. Bond?”

Bond’s gaze moved from his daughter and landed on Q. He grinned and said, “I’m afraid that’s classified information, Mr. Quintessant,” and gave the sort of wink that would haunt Q for weeks. Suddenly, Q’s weekend activities weren’t so effective in smothering his libido.

“Sorry,” said Q, but Bond only shook his head and huffed a laugh.

“I was only joking, Mr. Quintessant,” he said, and pulled his hand from his pocket so he could clap Q on the shoulder. He squeezed lightly, his thumb skimming the edge of Q’s new bruises. Q fought the accompanying shudder but couldn’t hold back the wince. “Are you alright?”

“Oh yes, it’s nothing,” said Q, hoping he didn’t sound as breathless as he thought he did, “just a healing bruise.”

Bond studied him for only a moment. “Sorry then,” he said,” removing his hand turning to his daughter once again. Q had the sneaking suspicious Mr. Bond knew he had love bites under his shirt, even with the painstaking time he took to hide the ones that dotted close to his collar; as long as the man believed they were from a particularly possessive woman they wouldn’t have a problem.

Q watched as Mr. Bond kissed his daughter on the cheek and spoke about something to which she nodded enthusiastically, her expression sunny. Then Bond walked back to him and gave him a smile and a parting, “see you this afternoon, Mr. Quintessant, Alec and I will be here around three. He wants to meet you,” he said, and then he was out the door.

The day passed quietly and without any trouble. Q was almost sad to see the clock tick on and on, heading towards another day. Eve stepped in during lunch to bother him but he resolutely gave nothing away. Except letting her peak under his collar to the sizeable and truly impressive marks left on his skin. She had squealed and vowed to make him spill all the gruesome details, but Q was saved by the bell signally the start of afternoon classes.

For the last hour of the day Natalya was energetic and unfocused, constantly looking up at the clock instead of following his lesson. He let her get away with it for the most part because she had never had any problems in his class before and he had a feeling it was just because of something she had planned with her father for the afternoon. When the bell rang, she was out of her seat and running down the hall. Q called after her but she stopped at the end of the hall, on the balcony looking over the front grounds. She stood staring out the window as the other children filed outside and into their parent’s cars. Q stood next to her for a few minutes, but when quarter past hit he knew they couldn’t stand there much longer. He led her back to the classroom and offered to read to her as they waited.

He was walking and gesturing with his spare hand as he normally read when Mr. Bond knocked on the doorframe to get their attention. Natalya yelled “Daddy!” and jumped up from her seat as Q smiled and mark their place, setting the book down on her desk for her to collect later.

“Are you ready for a grand day, Duckie? Uncle Alec wants to go to the zoo again today,” said Mr. Bond.

“We can see the penguins!” said Natalya, before looking around her father’s leg and saying, “Uncle Alec!” The man in question said something in a foreign language and swung her up into his arms as Mr. Bond approached Q to introduce them. Q’s smile stayed right up until their eyes made contact.

He knew this man. It was the man from the club, the one he spent the night with at a hotel. _This_ was Uncle Alec, whose grin faltered slightly in shock. He knew what this man’s cock looked like, for fucks sake, and now Bond was telling him that they’d been friends for years. Q’s world was dropping out from underneath him, he could feel it. The globe had stopped spinning and gravity had increased tenfold and now Q’s stomach was resting on the bottom of his diaphragm and his heart was quickly following.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Quintessant,” said the man, recovering quicker than Q and holding out a hand to shake Q’s. With no thoughts left other than unintelligible screaming in the back of his mind, Q followed instinct and shook his hand. Alec winked his left eye, the one shielded from Mr. Bond’s gaze, and Q suddenly wanted to scream. This was it, now he’d have to quit his work and go live with his mother again, maybe find work at a corner store or a pub, somewhere that wouldn’t ask too many questions and wouldn’t bring him any more trouble. He’d have to give up his degree and his passion all because he got too horny and slept with a man who found his distress _funny._ They’d have a good laugh about it after they left, no doubt, if Mr. Bond didn’t immediately pull Natalya from Q’s class and call up Mallory straight away. Maybe Mallory would laugh too, if he was a harsh man, but without a doubt he’d be outraged at the slander Q had brought upon the institutions name and demand his immediate resignation.

Q wondered if Bond and Alec had planned this, then immediately brushed the thought away. This was just the universe deciding it’d be funny to break him apart right as he was beginning to piece himself back together from the shit show that was his adolescence. This was just his luck, his karma from a past life, his divine punishment for a long list of sins. This is what his mother had been worried about when she warned him “you shouldn’t be gay, dear, it’ll only bring you trouble” as if he had chosen to be a monumental fuck up.

“-tessant? Mr. Quintessant?” said Bond, looking concerned, bless him. Q tried to find his breath and realized he couldn’t. His lungs refused to expand, the room was spinning slightly. There were hands on his shoulders, supporting him, weighing him down. “Thomas!” They produced a brown bag from somewhere, which helped him immensely, and sat him down in a student’s chair. Even when he calmed down, he couldn’t look Mr. Bond in the eye. He settled for staring down at his shoes, picking at the bag in his hands and willing his pulse to slow.

“You gave us quite the fright,” said Alec, and Q nearly winced. There was still a hand on his shoulder and he prayed it wasn’t the same one that had targeted his prostate like a fucking military grade missile. He couldn’t handle the weight of it, so he gently shrugged it off.

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’m not feeling well,” said Q, standing and testing his legs before making his way across the room.

“I think that’s a bit of an understatement,” said Mr. Bond, and Q quickly packed his bag. “That was a panic attack, wasn’t it?”

“Looked it,” said Alec, and Q prayed they’d shut up soon.

“I’m going home,” said Q, shouldering his bag. For the first time since Alec entered the room, he looked Bond square in the eyes. “I’m sorry for worrying you,” he said, then turned to Natalya, who looked scared and had a few tears in her eyes. Q kneeled in front of her, smiling sadly, “I’m sorry you had to see that, Natalya. I’ll be alright if I can sit down with a cup of tea. You have those moments too, yes?” and she nodded. Q smiled a bit wider.

 “I hope I’ll see you tomorrow?” She nodded again, and he felt a little bit relieved. There was no guarantee he’d have a tomorrow with her, he might lose his job overnight. Once Alec told Bond about their weekend, if he hadn’t already without either of them knowing the connection, Mr. Bond would surely have a thing or two to say. He dreaded that moment, but anticipated it nonetheless. It wouldn’t do to kid himself.

“I really am sorry to rush you out, but I think it would be best if I went home,” he said, making his way to the door. When they filed out after him, he locked the door to his classroom and pocketed the key once more. “I hope you have a nice evening,” he said, even if his cheery and professional voice wasn’t as strong as it usually was.

“At least let us drive you home, Mr. Quintessant,” said Bond, “you’re in no shape to ride the tube.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Q, leaving no room for argument. He saw Alec and Bond exchange a look and quickly needed room to think and to breathe. He still held the empty paper bag in his left hand, which might prove useful should his mind get the better of him on the ride home. Natalya waved to him as he walked out the gate but her father and ‘uncle’ only stared at him as they stood on the steps of the school. Q knew they weren’t happy, and preferred not to meet their eyes. Instead, his feet carried him to the station without a conscious thought on his part. He knew he’d be getting no sleep tonight, and tomorrow would bring even more stress than today.


	12. Don't You Ever Tame Your Demons

Q braced for any word from Mr. Bond. He didn’t believe he’d have to move out of his flat so there was no frenzied packing to fill his panic, leaving him only paperwork. Q wondered if he was the only teacher who continued to work even in the looming shadow of their own dismissal. He figured it was a coping mechanism and moved on.

At one point in the night, he lost himself in his old textbooks from his university days. He had kept a few of the more revolutionary ones and reread them throughout the years. It always made him a bit melancholy when he opened them and found his old notes. Usually, it would also make him feel exceptionally proud of himself: he had done something, had finished something, had been the best he could be. Given the circumstances of Q’s life, accomplishments were hard won and closely cherished.

This time, however, as he ran his fingers over the hurried ink marks in the margins tears crept into his eyes. He had worked for five years to get his Masters and enough outstanding and varied achievements under his belt in order to catch a prestigious job at a prestigious school. He had been trying to introduce a bit of diversity and creativity into his young students without ruining their sense of compassion. Obviously he had failed them, given he had barely lasted into his fourth year before having to leave. It was his own damn fault to, which made it even harder to bear. If this injustice against him was from someone else he would be angry and pugnacious, instead he was sinking to the ground with a book clutched to his chest. Dramatic, maybe, but it felt perfectly fitting in some pitiful sort of way.

He knew if he called anyone they’d just make a bigger mess of things. He couldn't afford to make a riot out of it and get the press involved, like his mother would demand. She may believe being gay was a stupid choice on his part, but she at least supported him when he was down. Never mind all those adolescent years when absolutely nothing was wrong, nothing at all. Eve, bless her heart, would bring the fight to Mallory and also raise a ruckus. He loved her but he was not in a position to start swinging. Groveling at Mallory’s feet, maybe, but not going in guns blazing. Q had no delusions about getting a good reference letter from the headmaster, but the least he could do is not antagonize the man. If Q was lucky, he might get a month or two of hush money that could tide him over through the move back into his mother’s house.

It was midnight by the time he stopped crying against his bookcase, eyes puffy and hot from the onslaught. He sniffed, then grimaced, then hauled himself slowly to his feet. The pity party needed to end now, starting with a long, hot shower and a cup of tea after that. Once he had both, Q sat down in front of his computer and opened his email. First, he sent one to Mallory asking for a time to talk about his resignation—there was no way Mr. Bond wouldn’t call up Mallory to _warn_ him, at the very least—and then he sent one to his mother, asking her how she was and if she had gotten any news about how Alice was faring across the pond. After that was done, he turned on the TV for background noise, fed Oscar, and waited for sunrise. Oscar was clearly confused with the change of schedule—Q rarely pulled all-nighters during the school year—but ultimately didn’t bother Q about it too much.

The school was completely dark when he arrived, telling him he was the first person to arrive that morning. Even the night janitors had finished their work, leaving him alone in a building meant for hundreds. He glanced around his classroom with a distinctly heavy feeling in his stomach, his lungs squeezing to the point of uselessness. He had spent years personalizing his own space but now it was all for nothing.

No, he couldn’t say that. That was just dreadful. He instead chose to think about all the wonderful students he had taught over the past three years, the ones he had seen grown academically and the ones who had grown psychologically. He loved children, easily more than he loved himself—but maybe not his cat—and they were the part of this job he would miss most. The paycheck was nothing to sneeze at either, but that was just a side thought at this point.

He reminisced at his desk for an hour before he heard other teachers beginning to key into their own rooms down the hallway. They had no idea he was here, as he had kept the lights off in his room and didn’t have a car to park outside the building, and therefore none of them bothered him. His phone rang and it startled him out of his reverie, scrambling to read the number before picking it up. Mallory’s office. His throat went dry but he had no time to soothe it before the phone had already rang three times and he was running out of time. If he didn’t pick up, Mallory might walk up here personally and Q couldn’t face him like that.

“Mr. Quintessant’s classroom, Mr. Q speaking,” he said, working from muscle memory at this point.

“Good morning, Mr. Q,” said Mallory, sounding terse and downright befuddled. “How are you today?”

“I-,” Q cleared his throat, “I’m quite fair, thank you for asking,” he said, taking off his glasses and rubbing at his eyes to ease the pressure building there.

“I’m sorry to be calling so early, but there is something I need you to explain to me,” said Mallory. “I received an email from you at 3:43 this morning, and just now opened it. I was a bit shocked to say the least. Why are you handing in a resignation? If it’s an emergency, you know, you can request leave instead.”

“It’s not exactly an emergency,” said Q, trying not to lose his nerve, “I’m afraid I made a terrible mistake over the weekend that had repercussions I did not anticipate,” he said, tears pricking his eyes. “You should be getting a call from Mr. Bond any day now demanding that his daughter be taking out of my classroom.”

The change in Mallory was immediate. His voice grew stern and Q felt like he was talking to his father instead of his boss. “Did something happen with Natalya? Is she alright?”

“Yes, yes sir, Natalya is fine,” said Q, voice starting to waver. “I… I upset Mr. Bond and an apology will not fix it.”

“What happened, Thomas?”

Q covered his eyes with his palm, hands trembling, “I slept with his best friend.”

There was a slight pause. “Well, that’s not exactly school protocol but that’s no reason for me to fire you, Thomas.”

“His best friend is a man, Gareth. I’m a homosexual who works with young, impressionable kids and Mr. Bond found out. I’m so sorry, Gareth, I never meant for this to happen. I thought I could keep the two parts of me separate but I guess I can’t… I’m sorry,” he said, just one last time. He couldn’t bear the thought of looking Mallory in the eye and thanked God he had answered the phone. Mallory could hear him crying, he knew, but that didn’t stop the tears from slipping down his cheeks.

Mallory let him cry a bit, not saying a word, and for a moment Q thought the line had dropped. Maybe Mallory had hung up on him in shock, maybe he was marching up to Q’s classroom to continue their talk face to face. Instead, he heard Mallory attempting to get his attention. “Thomas, Thomas listen to me. I need you to listen to me, I’m still your bloody boss remember,” said the man, and Q rallied himself one last time. To hear it from Mallory would solidify the entire ordeal, but he needed the closure. “I’m not going to fire you.”

Q’s heart stopped. “Sir-”

“No, Thomas, _you_ listen to _me_ right now. I’m speaking,” said Mallory, dictating the conversation. “I’m not going to bloody fire you just because you think you made a mistake. I know you had no idea the connection between your lover and Mr. Bond, or else you have enough common sense not to go through with it. Now, was the sex legal and consensual for both, or all, parties involved?”

Q startled when he realized he had to answer. “Yes sir,” he said.

“Then that’s all that matters to me, Thomas, case closed. I’m not going to fire one of my most promising educators just because some single-father with delicate sensibilities is unsettled by two men loving each other. This is bloody 2015, Thomas, and you’re my friend,” said Mallory. Q was frozen into speechlessness, and Mallory seemed to understand that. “Now breathe, Mr. Q, and take the day off if you need it. I’ll handle Mr. Bond should he file a complaint against you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Mallory,” said Q once he regained his voice.

“And for the record, Q, it’s illegal to terminate you based on sexual orientation in the first place. No matter where you work, never forget that,” said Mallory. “Have a good day, Thomas.”

“And you, Gareth,” said Q, and Mallory hung up. Q listened to the dial tone for a few minutes as his breathing calmed. It would be another two hours before his kids began to arrive, and if it were any other day Mr. Bond would soon bring Natalya to school. Without a doubt, Mr. Bond would instead give him a wide berth. Q would stop by Eve's classroom to tell her he wasn’t feeling well and thought it best to head home. He’d stop by Mallory’s office to tell the secretary to call in a substitute as well, and his attendance tomorrow was tentative at best. He must have looked a mess because she smiled understandingly and bid him a full recovery.

He was just out the door when he heard “Mr. Q!” yelled very enthusiastically from the parking lot. Q turned with a frown on his face, certain that he was imagining things. There stood Mr. Bond, Natalya’s hand in his, leading her straight towards Q. Natalya herself looked so happy to see him Q could feel his heart breaking. Perhaps Mr. Bond had asked Eve to watch Natalya in the morning instead and that’s why they were here.

“Good morning Natalya,” he said when they were close enough for conversation. He resolutely did not meet Mr. Bond’s eyes; he didn’t want to see the disgust there. Mr. Bond did not immediately herd his daughter away, even stopping to let them talk, so Q thought he’d do him a small mercy. Acting civil would be no chore on his part, and it was mostly for Natalya’s sake anyways. “I’m not feeling too good this morning, so I’m actually going to head home and get some rest.”

“But Mr. Q, we have the reading journals due today and you said we’d plan for the holiday party today too!” said Natalya, and Q would praise her powers of recall if it wasn’t for how he wished to end this conversation and let them be on their way.

“I know, and I’m very sorry,” said Q, “we’ll just have to do it when I get back.”

“But Mr. Q-”

“Natalya, why don’t I walk you upstairs and see if Ms. Moneypenny can watch you so I can go to work?” said Mr. Bond, quite suddenly and in a very firm tone that Q knew was meant to squander any arguments against him. Natalya visible deflated but did not protest.

Knowing it was a dismissal, Q nodded, mostly to himself. “Goodbye Natalya, I hope you have a good day,” he said. But before he could take more than two steps away from them, Mr. Bond stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Mr. Quintessant, would you wait a moment? I need to speak to you after I find Ms. Moneypenny,” said Bond, and then released his arm in a gradual, almost nervous sort of way. It was almost as if he hadn’t meant to touch Q and realized he had. Q withdrew into himself, both physically and mentally, so as to not take up so much space around the man. “Mr. Quintessant?”

“Yes,” said Q, abruptly enough to make Mr. Bond pause. “Yes, I will wait for you.” It would prove to be a tremendously terrible idea in the near future, but Q did not fear physical harm from Mr. Bond. He’d take his allotted verbal beating and then run home with his tail between his legs to cry and probably sleep.

He did wait. He waited for nearly ten minutes, in fact, because he said he would and even if Q felt like shrinking into a ball on the ground ignoring the world he didn’t go back on his word when he could help it. Bond emerged from the school building and made a beeline for his position near the gate.

“Mr. Quintessant,” he said, and Q only glanced at his face long enough to see the stormy expression there. “Mr. Quintessant, are you alright?”

Q outright scoffed, “of course I’m not bloody alright,” he said.

If Bond was at all startled by his outburst it was only shown with one raised eyebrow. Q didn’t have the courage to glare at him but he did glare at his own shoes. “I’m sorry,” said Q, after a few minutes of stewing silence.

Mr. Bond took a moment to respond. “What’s going on, Mr. Quintessant? Have I upset you in some way?”

Q’s head snapped up and for the first time he met Bond’s eyes. They held nothing but worry; Q gaped like a fish. “You- upset me? I thought- didn’t Alec-” the name hurt his throat, “tell you anything?”

“Alec told me a great deal, but I saw no reason to be upset. I was a bit surprised, of course, but nothing more. Although if we’re being completely honest, I’m rather offended you chose to sleep with Alec before you slept with me; Alec’s bloody awful in bed,” said Bond, with no trace of hostility or malice whatsoever. He was maybe laying on a bit too much charm for such a precarious situation, but Q had a feeling that’s just how Mr. Bond handled stressful situations. It wasn’t like the man was lacking in natural charm or sex appeal, after all.

“I don’t understand,” said Q, feeling a bit whiplashed. He had spent the entire night anticipating a tongue lashing and a return to life as a social outcast, not… a proposition. “You said… you know I had sex with your friend Alec?”

“Yes, although I didn’t know it was you until yesterday afternoon,” said Bond.

“As in, I fucked him,” said Q, making sure to get the point across.

“Yes.”

“There’s no confusion on what I mean by fuck, is there? Because-”

“Thomas,” said Bond, using the same stern voice he used earlier with his daughter, “I know what sex is, believe me. I also know what sex between two men is like, and had delved in it quite a few times before I met Natalya’s mother,” said Bond. “There is no confusion on what you mean by fucking my best friend.”

Q winced, and then froze. “Wait,” he said, then paused, “wait just a bloody minute. Are you taking the piss?”

“You assumed I’d be livid, didn't you?” asked Bond. When Q nodded, Bond smiled almost sadly. “I’m not as old fashioned as I appear, Mr. Quintessant. I’ve been happily pansexual for thirty-eight years now as well, and obviously don’t see any problem with you being gay. I have a few things I’d like to say on the subject of your chosen bed-partners but most of that is just opinion anyway.”

Q couldn’t fully believe it, he was so sure he must be dreaming. Maybe he had slipped and hit his head? Or maybe he had sat down in the car park and was now sleeping on the pavement while Mr. Bond passed Natalya over to Eve and marched to Mallory’s office. He had to clarify. “So this means you’re not removing your daughter from my room?”

“What in the world gave you that idea? What could be the harm in my daughter, anyone’s daughter, having a gay teacher?”

Q looked down at his shoes and pushed his glasses up his nose. “I could ‘turn her gay’ as they often say,” he said, feeling stupider and stupider. Even if Mr. Bond didn’t judge him for being gay, he would undoubtedly roll his eyes at Q’s dramatics.

“Queer isn’t a disease you can catch, believe it or not. I don’t know you gave you that bloody idea,” said Bond, sounding a bit upset now. “And I wouldn’t pull Natalya out of your class even if that were the case. She loves you, as a teacher and as a friend, and she’s hasn’t been this happy since her mother left. I’d be a fool to separate you two now,” said Bond.

Q stood deathly still as Bond took a few cautious steps and closed the distance between them. He touched Q’s shoulder and, when Q showed no signs of turning away, embraced him. Q hadn’t been hugged in so long he felt like he was sinking to the bottom of some great ocean, the warmth enveloping him. Q shuddered and sagged into the man’s arms and closed his eyes, almost afraid to breathe or to speak or to open his eyes and risk breaking the moment. “Go home. Thomas, and get some sleep. Give me a call if you feel up to watching Natalya tomorrow.”

“Don’t you leave tomorrow?” said Q, preferring to ignore the smell of Bond’s aftershave overtaking his senses and sinking into his clothes.

“I do, and I hope you’ll be there to take care of her while I’m away,” said Bond.

“I’ll be there,” said Q, and Bond squeezed him tight for one moment before releasing him. His smile was brilliant and blinding and everything Q wanted to see every day for the rest of his life. Maybe it was the emotional whiplash or the lack of sleep, but it also broke his heart.


	13. Always Keep Them On a Leash

If Q thought waiting to lose his job was stress inducing, he changed his mind when he met Natalya’s grandmother. The woman was short, fat, and ruthless. Q felt the unnatural urge to cover his throat in her presence to hide his fleshy weakness and meeting her eyes was like facing down perdition itself. His every word felt like a criminal offense against her and even when she took up his invitation for tea she didn’t seem pleased. 

“I must admit, I was surprised when James told me he had asked you to watch Natalya,” said M. Q knew he should say something in reply, but was too busy trying not to knock over the kettle and put too much milk in her cup. His hand shook, matter the feat all the more perilous. He was thankful he had a young heart or else he’d fear for his health.

Only once the cups were set on the table did he find his voice. He cleared his throat and said, “I was shocked as well. It’s the first time a parent had asked me to nanny for them.”

“It’s hardly in your job description,” she said, “how are you handling it so far? Good enough to watch her while her father is away, of course, but my son has never been known for having the highest standards.”

Q paused with his cup against his lips, wondering if that was a slight against him or her son. Both, he assumed, but said nothing of it. “It’s a bit like running a classroom, actually. Natalya is wonderful, both in and out of school. The domestic aspect took some getting used to, as I have no children of my own or nieces and nephews. I’ve never had to put someone to bed or tell them no more dessert.”

“You’re young, a family will come with time,” she said. “James had Natalya when he was almost thirty, and I adopted him around that age as well.”

“I’m more focused on my career right now anyway,” he said, instead of admitting that kids would probably never happen for him unless he wanted to go through the horrendously lengthy and costly process of adoption. And he’d never adopt so long as he didn’t have a partner. And he’d likely never have a partner for long enough to even think about family because of his career. His personality didn’t help, either.

"Family comes at the most inopportune and unexpected times, Mr. Quintessence. One rarely plans for it," she said, setting down her tea. "My son married a viper of a woman, a French woman no less, and she went into labour when he was out of the country. Then she had the gall to cheat on him and abandon her daughter as well. Nothing according to plan, you see?" Q nodded, admittedly a bit flabbergasted. "But Natalya was the best thing to happen to James, and he was the best thing to happen to me."

“At first I thought you might be here to ruin what little peace James has made for himself and Natalya,” she continued, giving Q no time to recover. “I thought maybe you had no regard for their health and happiness and only cared about taking James’ money and going back to your flat,” she said.

Q’s face fell and he looked down at his cup. How was he supposed to explain that money was, sincerely, the last thing on his mind when Mr. Bond asked him to watch Natalya when he couldn’t? Was there any way to make her believe if her mind was already so set against him? “I don’t know what I can say to assure you that is not the case,” he said, deciding honesty was the best route.

Unexpectedly, M smiled at him, and her face transformed into the loving and doting grandmother Natalya often gushed about. “Oh I know, dear,” she said, sipping her tea. “I can see now you’re just another kind soul swept away by James’ charms. Once the allure of him wears off you’ll see what a right bastard he is in reality,” she said, startling a laugh out of Q.

“You’re his mother, aren’t you supposed to love him unconditionally?” said Q, clearing their cups away from the table.

“I love him. I also know him better than anyone,” she said, patting her lips with a napkin. “And he’s bloody unbearable when he sets his mind to it.” She stood and left the napkin on the table, “oh just leave it for the help, love. I’ll be taking Natalya now,” she said.”

“Of course,” he said, already moving to grab his things and get out of the house before he overstayed his welcome. “I do hope this hasn’t inconvenienced you terribly. Though, as his boss I assume you know what Mr. Bond, sorry, _James,_ is off doing in France,” he said.

“I am well used to James’ sporadic schedule,” she said, “focus your energies on Natalya, keep her safe and happy until his return.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, opening the door for her but being careful to stay out of arms reach. He felt like he was walking on eggshells. As if, at any moment, she would turn to him and say “so when did you choose to be a homosexual?” and he’d have to stutter out some ludicrous answer that she’d see through straight away and proceed to call him out, once for lying to her face and once more for daring to act like a fairy in her presence.

But that moment never came, even as Q waited with bated breath. M, or Mrs. M, simply said her goodbyes, took Natalya by the hand, and led her towards a waiting car. Natalya, of course, was far more enthusiastic in her farewell, but ultimately nothing out of the ordinary happened. Q sighed a great sigh at the end of Mr. Bond’s driveway and nearly sagged against the decorative stone pillars. Anyone who saw him might assume him faint of breath, but in reality a great weight had lifted from his shoulders. He didn’t enjoy interacting with Mr. Bond’s mother and feared the next time it was required of him.

Nothing spectacular occurred for a few days. School filled his days and Natalya filled his nights, and Q could’ve sworn he barely blinked and suddenly it was Friday and Mr. Bond was due home any minute. Q agreed to let Natalya stay up to greet him but it was already nine at night and she was dozing off in her place by the fire Q had hesitantly started after double checking the availability of fire extinguishers. Q had a leisure book in his lap when he heard the garage door open and close, and then the jingle of keys just outside the door. He stood, stretched, and left Natalya instead of waking her. He greeted Mr. Bond at the door all alone, the lights from the kitchen barely letting them see each other.

“Good evening, Mr. Quintessant,” said Bond, just through the door and putting his bags down by the hall table.

“Good evening, Mr. Bond,” said Q, unable to hide his smile. “Natalya wanted to wait up for you, but I’m afraid she wasn’t up to the challenge.” Bond hummed slowly, and instantly Q felt as if he had overstepped some boundary. Perhaps attempting a bit of humour wasn’t advisable with the man so tired and jetlagged. “Are you more tired or hungry? I can heat something up for you, or leave if you prefer?”

“Please, stay, I’m starving,” said Bond, guiding Q with a hand on his back. Q fixed his glasses and allowed himself to be led into the kitchen. “She’s in the living room?” asked Bond, already headed towards the right door.

“Yes, curled up on the couch,” said Q, and he left the man to see his daughter for the first time in a few days. He turned towards the fridge and found something that would at least keep Bond from waking in the middle of the night from hunger pains.

“Thank you,” said Bond, digging in with the least amount of finesse Q had ever seen from him. “Have you seen either hide or tail of Alec?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Q, “I assumed he was avoiding me.”

“Rightly so, I told him to leave you be. He’s gone back to work by now, I suppose,” said Bond, setting his dishes in the sink and turning all but one of the lights off. The layout of the house was now familiar to Q, so he had no trouble finding the door in the dark, and Bond was right on his heels.

Q watched Mr. Bond scoop up his daughter, blanket and all, and realized how late the hour was. “I should be getting home,” he said.

“I do wish we could find a better alternative than you frequenting the Underground at ungodly hours of the night, Mr. Quintessant,” said Bond, and Q swore he could see a bit of a smirk on the man’s lips.

“I’m sure we’ll come up with something eventually,” said Q. “In the meantime… Good night, Mr. Bond,” he said.

“Good night, Mr. Quintessant, sleep well,” said Bond, and Q turned towards the front door just as he started up the staircase with Natalya bundled in his arms. Q felt strangely warm as he closed the door behind him.

\--

Q had long since gotten into the habit of taking Natalya outside to play while the other kids were picked up by their parents or their nannies. There was a chill in the air due to it being the beginning of December, but it was nothing a thick scarf and a pair of mittens couldn’t ward off. Natalya threw smalls snowballs at him while he ran away, dodging, not trusting his aim to return fire.

“Mr. Q, hold still!”

“Fool me once, shame on me, fool me twice, shame on you!” said Q, laughing as he ducked behind the plastic slide. “You’ve tricked me once, fiend, I shall not believe you again!”

“But Mr. Q!” she yelled, giggling madly as she chased after him with snow in her hands. He leapt away from her, cursing her speed and skill in a very loud, childish way. He slipped a little on the pavement but caught himself on the wall—only to be pelted with another snowball.

“I surrender!” he yelled, and turned to find Natalya watching him with crafty eyes.

“What do you have to give me?” she asked, and for a second he was floored. Surely she must have perfected her evil overlord powers of negotiation with her father, and surely Mr. Bond gave in just as quickly as Q.

“Hot cocoa,” he said, “I have some in my room. We can use Ms. Moneypenny’s microwave next door.”

“Extra marshmallows?”

“Extra marshmallows,” he said, nodding. Natalya grinned and dropped her snowball and let him lead her towards the door by her hand. She began to talk about how she was going to bug her dad into taking her to a movie that coming weekend because there was a Disney film she had been waiting to see for _forever_.

He was holding the door open for her when he saw someone lingering just outside the gates of the school. The gates were closed so he didn’t worry, even considering walking over to ask him what he needed. It was a man, from what he could see, but overall he didn’t look suspicious. Maybe a parent who was still waiting for their kid, if there had been any kids left inside. Maybe someone from the neighborhood was just looking around. Either way, Q closed the door behind him and thought nothing more of it.

Mr. Bond arrived just before eight that night, an early day for him. Natalya rushed out of her bath to greet him, and Q was wrapped up in his various layers before Mr. Bond caught him at the door. “Mr. Quintessant,” he said, “you’re rushing out so soon.”

“Ah, yes, I’m sorry but I can’t stay. Winter recess is fast approaching and I’m very busy,” he said, then felt guilty when Mr. Bond looked guilty as well. “Oh, no, it’s perfectly alright. I count this as my downtime, please believe me. I enjoy the time I spend with your daughter, Mr. Bond,” he said.

Bond smiled in response and stepped closer, hand resting on the door. “My mother adores you, by the way,” he said.

Q stared at him then said, “you must be joking. She was ready to throw her tea at me.”

“Nonsense, mother is far too polite for that. She found your company to be quite pleasant,” he said, and Q chuckled quietly. “I do as well.”

“Pardon?”

“Find your company pleasant,” he said.

Q glanced away, shifting from foot to foot as he pushed his glasses up his nose. “Thank you..?”

Mr. Bond laughed, and they both paused when they heard Natalya’s bare feet on the stairs. “Goodnight, Mr. Quintessant,” said Bond, opening the door for him.

“Goodnight, Mr. Bond,” he said, and the door shut behind him. There was snow on the pavement and it would be gone by morning, but it was just enough to soak through his shoes. Q smiled anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update took longer because 1) M is lovely but new to me, 2) I've been very busy and very tired, and 3) i made the huge mistake of starting a new story. please feel free to smack me upside the head for that last one.


	14. When I Was Sixteen, My Senses Fooled Me

It’s snowing again when Q took Natalya outside with all the other students. Q knew it would quickly turn to slush and turn the roads and sidewalks into a living nightmare, but for now he forced himself to enjoy it. Natalya seemed thrilled at the surprise and Q didn’t have the heart to reprimand her for forgetting her mittens back inside the classroom.

But when she threatened him with a poorly made projectile, he didn’t hesitate to say, “Natalya Olivia Monique Bond if you dare throw that at me I will personally double your math homework.”

“I’m telling Daddy!”

“Tell Daddy all you want,” he said, sticking out his tongue when she did it first.

“He likes me more!” she cried, crossing her arms and sticking up her nose.

He spluttered, comically indignant. “Are you implying your father would be swayed by _favouritism_?”

“Of course he would be,” she said, “Daddy plays favourites all the time. And he always chooses me,” she said, beaming.

“It sounds more like he’s swayed by _you,”_ said Q, chuckling. “Are you his weakness?”

“It’s the dimples,” she said, and then flashed them at him.

Q would have been incredibly shocked by her self-awareness if he hadn’t had her in his classroom for the past three months. He paused, wondering if so little time had passed when it felt like Natalya and Bond had always been in his life. Q should have been—would have been, if it was his past self—frightened by the current proximity and growing attachment he had with Mr. Bond and his daughter, but instead he felt only content. Of course, there was always a level of dread just beneath the surface, waiting for the day this companionship would be wrenched away from him for some reason and he’d be left hollow without it. But Mr. Bond had proved his tenacity and open-mindedness in the most important of ways, and thus Q was willing to put his best foot forward in return.

Idly, he wondered what next year would be like. Natalya would no longer be his student, Bond no longer attending his Parent-Teacher conferences, and Q would most likely be no longer needed in their house as a makeshift nanny. Mr. Bond had trouble with nannies in the past, but Q was sure that would all be resolved in a year’s time. More prominently, winter recess was approaching fast and Q had no idea if he was ready to handle his mother during the holidays. He was also a bit curious as to how Natalya and her father would spend their vacation, but he assumed they would include Bond’s mother and Q couldn’t handle her either. That woman could command armadas, Q had no doubt.

“Mr. Q, look how high I can go!”

“Oh wow, Natalya, I don’t think I could go that high,” said Q, smiling. “I’m scared of heights,” he admitted, “so compared to me, you’re very brave. Just be careful!”

“This is nothing, Mr. Q,” she exclaimed, attempting to push herself higher. “Daddy pushes me over his head sometimes,” she said, her long hair brushing the ground when she leant back to enjoy the motion of her swing. Q was almost nauseous just looking at her.

“Your Dad is very strong, yes,” he said, tucking his hands into his pockets and watching as the last student left with their nanny, leaving him and Natalya alone. Alone, along with the man approaching them at a comfortable stroll.

“Good afternoon,” said the man, tipping his hat to the two of them. He came to a stop just before the swing, seemingly disregarding the risk of being hit by Natalya’s feet.

“Good afternoon,” said Q, watching him carefully. He didn’t seem threatening at all, and he could very easily be a parent here to pick up their child. “Waiting on someone?”

“Oh no,” said the man, “I saw you swinging and thought I might say hello.” Q noticed his accent was quite subdued but still overtook his words, and yet Q had never heard it before. He didn’t _look_ too foreign though he did have a wide face and large lips, but Q hated to put too much weight on visible cues. It seemed in bad taste to assume anyone who looked different didn’t belong.

“Well, I hope you have a good day,” said Q, giving him a polite smile before shifting his attention to Natalya. “Would you like for me to read to you today, Natalya?” he asked.

“Yes, Mr. Q,” she said, leaping from the swing and taking his hand.

“Natalya, that’s a very pretty name,” said the man, smiling down at her.

“Thank you,” she said politely. Then she squints at him, as if suspicious. “I’ve seen you somewhere before,” she said to him, surprising Q.

The man chuckled, “I don’t doubt that. I work with your father,” he said.

Natalya didn’t latch onto the potential conversation as she might have, and as Q expected her to. Instead, she continued to stare at the man. Then, quite bluntly, she said, “Daddy said to stay away from you. I don’t like you.”

The man didn’t seem at all shocked, his smile firmly in place. Q subtly placed Natalya behind him, heeding her words and the words of her father out of caution. “I hope you have a good day, sir,” he said, no cheer in his voice.

“And you as well,” said the man, then he stared down at Natalya. His smiled suddenly seemed a lot less friendly. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon, Natalya.” Q took a step back when he moved, but he simply turned and headed towards the gate. Q held Natalya’s hand and watched him go until he was off school grounds and out of sight.

“Let’s go home early today,” said Q, and Natalya agreed quietly. They packed up and Q asked Eve to drive them instead of taking the train. It was safer that way, and she was happy to help.

“You should tell the school guard,” she said, speaking reason.

“I will, tomorrow morning,” he said.

“And tell Mr. Bond as well, of course,” she added.

“I plan to,” he said, even though he feared the man’s reaction. What if he suspected Q couldn’t protect his daughter? Q had absolutely no training in self-defense and he wasn’t exactly the most physically imposing person either. Eve could beat him at arm wrestling eight times out of ten, which said a lot about them both really.

“Call me if you need anything. Stay safe,” she said, as he and Natalya piled out of her car just a short walk away from the Bond household.

“You too,” he said, and shut the door. She sped off, far more aggressive behind the wheel than he ever would be, and Q took Natalya’s hand again. This time is was more for his sake than hers, and she was smart enough to notice that. She chattered on like normal, but he had a feeling she was doing that for him instead of doing it naturally. It comforted him, and also amazed him.

He locked the door behind them and released the sigh he had been holding in since the man had left them on the playground. Natalya started her homework at the table and he joined her with his own work, and he could have sworn no time at all had passed yet suddenly Natalya was saying goodnight to him and slipping into bed. Reading to her made him sleepy, but he was too anxious to sleep. He sat on the couch in the living room waiting for her father to return home.

It was 9:30 before a key turned the lock and the door swung in. Q was on his feet in an instant.

“Mr. Quintessant, why am I always still surprised to see you?” said Bond, humour in his voice. He took one look at Q’s face and grew serious, his smile falling away. “What’s wrong? Is it Natalya?”

“A man approached us on the playground today,” said Q, “I don’t know who he was but Natalya recognized him and reacted negatively.”

“But she’s alright? And you’re alright?” asked Bond, placing his hands on Q’s shoulders and ducking to level their eyes.

“Yes, we’re both alright,” said Q, reaching up and holding on to Bond’s wrists. “Just a bit shaken up, is all. She handled it far better than I.”

“Children have very little grasp on dangerous possibilities,” said Bond. “Did he threaten you? Say anything to justify banning him from school grounds?”

“He said he worked with you, and that he would see Natalya very soon,” said Q, hoping that was enough for Mr. Bond to go off of.

“Shit,” said Bond, “that doesn’t exactly narrow it down, but I think I have an idea.” He continued before Q could get a word in, “I don’t want you to go anywhere alone, you or Natalya. I’ll arrange a car to pick you up on the days I can’t. I’ll speak with Mr. Mallory as well to see about school security.”

Far be it that Q dared tell the man no when he was just trying to protect his daughter. He had no idea what being a parent felt like, but he knew whatever would keep Natalya safest would had to be done. She might protest, and Q himself might even complain, but if Bond thought it best than it would be done. “Alright,” said Q , “We’ll be careful.”

Bond pulled him close and Q could hear his heartbeat where his ear was pressed to the man’s chest, head tucked under his chin. This was the second time Bond had hugged Q and Q had felt safe. Q was starting to feel a bit pampered, especially with strong hands rubbing soothing circles over his back. “I will do everything in my power to keep you both safe,” said Bond, and Q believed him.


	15. I Knew That Something Would Always Rule Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, the wait has gone beyond tasteful teasing to downright neglect. Time just got away from me.

(Looking back on that day Q knew he should’ve been more careful.)

“Did she behave for you?” asked Bond, in hushed tones in the mudroom, the lights from the street outside creeping through the windows and creating a hazy background behind him. His daughter was already tucked away in her bed, leaving the humour in his voice free to take on a flirtatious tilt.

“She did,” said Q, smiling.

“And did _you_ behave?” asked Bond, his lips curling into a smirk.

“I believe I did,” said Q, playing coy and mentally berating himself for every playful word.

“You don’t sound too sure,” said Bond, undoing the buttons of his overcoat. “I don’t believe you,” he said.

“I’ll have you know that I am very good at following the rules,” said Q, turning away from him with an air of wounded pride. Bond chuckled behind him and followed him to the stairs.

“I have no doubt, Mr. Quintessant,” said Bond, hand on the small of Q’s back. Q had no doubt what was going on here, in the dark of the man’s house with his daughter just upstairs. He still wasn’t sure it was entirely appropriate—in all reality, it wasn’t appropriate at all, given their professional relationship as teacher and parent—but he made no effort to put an end to it. Mr. Bond had a way of making him feel special without making him feel cheap. This completely contradicted the fact that any flirtation between them would amount to very little, no matter how attracted they were to each other, due to their aforementioned professional relationship. He was sure Mr. Bond was just being his usual charming self, and it only made Q feel special because Mr. Bond had held back when they had assumed each other straight.

All in all, it was a mess and Q kind of loved it.

Q stopped at the bottom of the stairs and Bond stopped next to him. “She’s already asleep, it’s quite late,” he said.

“I meant to be home earlier but time got ahead of me, I’m sorry,” said Bond, his hand rubbing over Q’s back.

Q smiled, a bit sad, as he caught Mr. Bond’s hand and toyed with his fingers for a moment before letting it go. “I work in the morning, I need to get home,” he said.

Bond edged a bit closer. “Tomorrow’s Friday,” he said, as if that excused Q’s late night. “You can sleep in on Saturday… or you could sleepover tomorrow night so you’re not out so late.”

Q stared at him, frozen, and then recovered before the pause became too awkward and Bond rescinded his offer. “I… yes, I suppose I could, couldn’t I?”

“I’d like you to,” said Bond, smiling, “it’d be easier for you, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Q, eyes dropping from Mr. Bond’s. “I will see you tomorrow morning, Mr. Bond,” he said.

“Thomas,” said Bond, catching his hand and holding him in place. Q’s breath caught in his throat as Bond leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Call me James,” said Bond, right in his ear, and then he saw Q to the door.

(Q shouldn’t have gotten so comfortable, so negligent.)

“Thomas,” said Bond, greeting him at the front door.

Q grinned and blocked the doorway with his body, “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t believe the master of the house would appreciate a beggar lingering on the steps.”

Bond rubbed the new scruff on his cheeks, frowning. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

Q laughed, “you look like an old man.”

Bond grunted and bullied Q out of the doorway, wrapping his free arm around Q’s waist as he shut the door behind them. He placed a kiss on Q’s temple, their new standard for evening greetings, and Q felt his face heat without his consent.

“Thirty-eight is not old,” said Bond.

Q grinned at his pouty look. “No, it’s not,” he said, and cupped Bond’s cheeks to guide him into a gentle kiss under the light by the sink. Bond tasted like coffee and whatever sandwich he had at lunch and that was perfectly okay with Q.

(The blame rested solely on his shoulders, no matter what the others said.)

It was so cold out that Q was hesitant to bring Natalya outside. Her father made sure she brought warm clothes, knitted mittens and a matching hat completed her outfit and ultimately melted Q’s heart. Other children less suited to the season had to wait for their nannies inside as a select few ran around the playground with Natalya under Q’s watchful eyes. They lingered after the last one left, and Natalya took Q’s hand can followed him inside.

“Are you ready for Winter recess?” asked Q, knowing with each other passing day his students grew harder to control. A few parents had already approached him with questions about his boldly announced holiday party. He and Eve were already coordinating their efforts, as they did each year, to send the kids off to their family holidays in good spirits.

“Very much,” said Natalya, “Daddy wants to take me to the Bahamas, but Nana said she ‘won’t allow it’,” she giggled out her best impersonations of her grandmother –it was scarily accurate, if Q was being honest—as she untied her boots.

Q’s grinned stayed as he pulled off his jacket and hung it up on the hook by the door along with hers. “Would you like to spend your holiday in the tropics?” he asked, truly curious. Bond –James—never mentioned going away for Natalya’s break, no how much he expected Q to be around to babysit her, and he definitely never mentioned bringing Q along. Q didn’t mind, nor did he think he had a right to mind, he just wanted to be included in the loop. He picked up her usual book and found the page they left off on.

“We usually go somewhere warm, Daddy doesn’t like the cold,” she said, “and going places is usually fun with Daddy. But what about you, Mr. Q? Where will you go?”

“I suppose I’ll go home to visit my mother,” said Q, smiling even as Natalya looked down at her shoes. When she sniffed, he kneeled in front of her and took her hand. “You can come home with me, if the Bahamas aren’t as fun as you expected,” he said, and she laughed as she wiped at her eyes.

“I miss my mom,” she cried, letting Q pull her close. “I want her to come home, I want her to live with me and Daddy again,” she continued but lost her clarity, her words growing garbled and snot running from her nose. Q could only rub her back with his spare and listen, letting her say what she needed to say.

“That’s okay,” said Q, “you’re allowed to miss her, you can be sad.” She was far too young to filter her emotions, despite whatever pressure she might feel to be “strong” and “stoic” like her father always was. It was unfair that she was caught in the middle of adult complications, and she most likely felt to be the cause of it.

Natayla sniffed against his sweater, then drew still. “Mr. Q…”

“Why are you crying, Natalya? Has Mr. Q done something to upset you so?” said the man, and Q’s blood ran cold. He stood quickly but smoothly and kept his body between Natalya and the door, where the man hovered.

“May I help you, sir?” said Q, rightfully on edge.

“I’m here to see Natalya,” said the man. Q reached behind him to keep a hand on Natalya so he knew where she was, that she was safe.

“I’m sorry, sir, but you’re not supposed to be here,” said Q, “If I could ask you to leave and perhaps you could come in with Natalya’s parents sometime.” Q knew this would never happen, from what he knew from Bond and his strangled work relationship with the man, whom Bond venomously called “Silva”.

“No, that won’t do,” said Silva, “see, James and I used to be lovers, did he tell you? I was part of the family, Natalya was my daughter just as much as she was his.” He said this while looking down at Natalya fondly, in a way that made Q sick to his stomach. “Then he took her away from me, and refused to speak to me,” he said, his voice rising to take up the room.

“And I can see why,” said Silva, and smirked contemptuously, looking Q up and down, “he’s replaced me with yet another pretty thing, his young Ganymede. I’ve heard so much about you, Thomas Quintessant. Genius elementary student, gifted if directionless teenager, pitifully underwhelming primary teacher. You’ve slacked off in the past decade, Tom, and I don’t think you’re fit to be in Natalya’s life anymore.”

“Mr. Q…” said Natalya.

“She’s coming with me, Mr. Quintessant,” said Silva, and Q knew what he had to do.

“Go to Ms. Moneypenny, Natalya,” he said, and she squeezed his hand for reassurance. “Don’t be afraid, don’t look back,” he said, watching as Silva lost his smirk and took on a scowl. Without warning, Q throw the book at Silva and let go of Natalya’s hand, leaving her free to run out the door as he flung himself towards Silva. He was absolutely useless at self-defense or hand-to-hand combat but he knew his environment and he was not afraid.

That was a lie, he was terrified beyond measure. But he had to do this, he had to keep Silva occupied long enough for Eve to grab Natalya and get out of the building. Silva swore in a language Q didn’t understand as Q shoved him back with his momentum, ramming him against a bookcase and raining books down over their heads. He kept the upper hand for only a moment before Silva knocked him in the head and sent him to the floor with the force of it. Q couldn’t keep track of what happened after that, only aware of a ringing in his ears and the nausea in his stomach. He held onto the leg of a desk as pain erupted through his ribs and yelling filled the air.

“Thomas? Thomas! Thomas are you alright? Don’t try to stand up, don’t move,” someone said, and Q thought they might have sounded a bit like Eve, but Eve didn’t cry so easily.

“Na..t...” said Q, his tongue heavy. His body wasn’t cooperating, and he groaned when someone pressed something thick against the side of his head.

“Stay awake, Thomas, I’ve got you,” they said, and Q felt someone hold his hand firmly in two of theirs. “Natalya’s here, she’s fine, you kept her safe,” they said, but Q was already fading out.

“Thomas don’t you dare, I didn’t drag your sorry arse through six years of schooling just to lose you over a flesh-wound,” they said, and it had to be Eve. “Talk to me, Thomas,” she said, and so he did, mumbling in response to her constant questions. It annoyed him that she wouldn’t let him fall asleep, not even when he told her how tired he was, and not even when they lifted him up and put him on a bed. She couldn’t go in the ambulance with him and he heard Natalya crying before they closed the doors.

Idly, he wondered where James was.

(And he wondered if he would ever see James again.)


	16. I Knew This Sin Was Mine Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back, back again~

Q woke up to the beeping of his heart monitor and a hand clasped around his. He curled his fingers in theirs and heard a loud gasp, and then they lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles. “I could kiss you right now, you stupid idiot,” said Eve, and Q smiled despite the grogginess in his head.

“What happened?” he asked, not fully remembering how he had made his way to hospital bed or why it felt like a lumberjack had split his head open with an axe.

“Silva hit you in the head with one of your trinkets,” said Eve, rubbing the top of his hand with her warm ones.

Q groaned. “How heroic,” he said, slowly opening his eyes against the light of the room. It must have been sometime in the morning, a time when they would both be at work under normal circumstances.

“To be fair, the news caption reads “Teacher rescues student, suffer blunt force trauma to the head” so no one will know it was a snow globe that did you in,” said Eve, and there was humour in her voice, however tired she sounded.

“Thank you,” he said, honest, “I’m glad someone was hear when I woke up.”

“Your mother was here all yesterday but I sent her back to your apartment to tend to Oscar and catch up on some rest, to give her something to do and keep her from badgering the staff,” she said.

“Oh god,” said Q, wincing as he imagined it. Then his eyes snapped back open. “Natalya! Is she alright? Where is she?” his heartrate spiked on the monitor and at once a nurse burst through the door.

“Natalya is perfectly alright, Thomas,” said Eve, willing him to calm down as the nurse gave her dirty looks for disrupting his peace. “She was here for a while, getting her own checkup, then she went home with her father. I believe she’s taking the rest of the week off from school as well, at Mallory’s prompting.”

Q leaned back in his bed, sighing in relief. He squeezed her hand and she smiled back at him but otherwise remained quiet as the nurse checked his vitals and his responses. “You have a minor concussion,” said the nurse, “and you have six stitches on the side of your head. We can discharge you today if nothing goes wrong.”

Eve sat next to him through the entire process until he was set to change into his own clothes and walk out the door. Eve had obviously had the insight to run to his home and grab him clean clothes, including one of his favourite sweaters, and he could kiss her for that simply thoughtfulness. “I’ll take you home and stay a while to help your mother with anything she might need,” she said, guiding him down the hall.

He ignored the urge to ask about James and Natalya the entire ride home. If they had been there yesterday Eve would have surely said something, and thus there was nothing to ask about until Natalya went back to school. He paused. “How many days do I have to take off?” he asked, and Eve chuckled.

“Most people would be happy to have paid sick days to recover before being forced back to work,” said Eve. “Mallory wants you to take a few days to rest and orient yourself, but since it’s just a minor concussion he’ll let you work back up to a full work day after that. Probably teach for half a day then go home to rest so not to overwhelm you,” she said, and Q couldn’t decide if he liked the idea of having so much time to sleep –just the walk to the car left him exhausted once again- or if he would go stir-crazy.

“Who will be covering my classroom while I’m gone?”

“Camille Montes was in the area and without plans,” said Eve, and already Q was groaning.

“Oh she’s terrible with kids! She gets so upset when they don’t listen to her, and then they don’t listen to her because she showed them she’s easily bullied!”

“Your kids will have a fun few days until you return, then,” said Eve, pulling into the parking for his apartment building. “I’ll walk you up and stay a while, alright?”

“Alright,” said Q, and he let her guide him to the lobby elevator and then let them both into his apartment. It looked spotless, thanks to his mother no doubt. Speak of the devil, his mother careened towards him and swept him up into a hug. “Hey Mum,” he said, and she sniffled into his hair.

“I thought I had lost you,” she said, petting his unruly hair.

“It was just a minor concussion,” he said.

“A madman hit you over the head with a cosh! If it hadn’t been for Ms. Moneypenny you could’ve easily succumbed to shock or bled to death on the floor,” she said, and Q pulled back.

“He hit me with a baton? I didn’t even see it in his hand…” he sat down on his couch, still musing over the incident, as his mother and Eve fretted about him. Eve ended up staying for dinner but promised to leave them be after the meal. His mother brushed the thought away and set her a place.

“Who was the man who lingered at your bedside?” his mother asked, after her head had raised and her eyes had opened from grace. Q had no idea what she was talking about, though his heart did jump as if suddenly full of life, and he looked to Eve for an answer.

“Mr. Bond came in after Natalya was taken care of. He waited to hear how you would fare, then had to take his daughter home,” she said, neatly cutting her pot pie. “He regretted having to leave your side before you woke up,” she added, giving Q a wink when she thought his mother wouldn’t see. His mother dutifully ignored it, no doubt.

“His daughter was an angel, she cried when she saw you laying there, then fell asleep in her father’s arms. Poor dear,” his mother said, and Q’s heart ached.

“I think I should call them, just to tell them I’m alright,” he said.

“Are you sure? Don’t push yourself, I can do it for you,” his mother said, and Eve smiled.

“No, I think I should be the one to do it,” he said, both for his sake and for James’, and Natalya too. He needed to hear their voices, there was some irrational, persistent fear somewhere in his mind that Natalya wasn’t actually alright and Bond was actually still at the hospital by her side, and no one was telling him to save his heart. After Eve said her goodbyes and hugged him, Q escaped into his bedroom with his cellphone as his mother did the dishes. He stared at the contact, afraid he would lose his nerve, before finally putting the phone to his ear and holding his breath through the dial tone, and the first rings.

On the second ring, James picked up. “Thomas?” was his first word, and all at once all Q’s breath escaped him and he sagged onto his bed, phone clutched to his ear. Oscar darted through the crack in his door, no doubt attempting to escape his mother’s bustling, and curled up on his pillows, purring loudly in response to his attention after so long an absence.

“Oh James,” said Q, and he laughed a bit in relief as James sighed his name.

“I thought I’d never hear your voice again,” said James, and the sentiment was echoed in Q’s heart.

“I… thought the same,” said Q, “I was so worried, I had no idea what happened to Natalya after I… blacked out… and I won’t be allowed to go into school for a few days so I had no idea when I’d be able to see her.”

“She’s fine, she’s perfectly fine, no bumps or bruises, only a bit of emotional exhaustion. She’ll be going in to therapy starting next week, every other day, but the doctor said young minds were resilient,” said James. “She had a nightmare last night and refused to go back to bed without me in the room with her, but that will pass with time,” he added, and his voice sounded so tired and sad that Q wished he were in personal so he could hold the man.

“I want to see her, James,” said Q, and then realized how demanding that was. “I mean, I would appreciate if you would let me, she’s your daughter, and it’s your de-”

“She wants to see you too,” said James, and Q smiled, tears in his eyes.

“I want to see _you_ James,” said Q.

“And I want to see you as well,” said James, his voice gentle enough to break Q’s heart.

“She’s not going into school, right? Can you both come here tomorrow afternoon? My apartment is spick and span, thanks to my mother’s visit, but she catches a train home tomorrow night and it would be great for you… I want you to meet her,” he said, only half acknowledging the step he was taking.

“I’d be happy to, and I’m sure Natalya will be thrilled to see you,” said James, undoubtedly smiling against the phone.

“Can I speak to her, James? Please, I need to hear her voice,” said Q, curling up on his side on his mattress.

“Of course, let me see if she’s done with her bath,” said James, and Q accompanied him up the stairs and to the bathroom where Natalya was. “Duckie, you all done? Q’s on the phone and he really wants to talk to you,” said James, and Q heard Natalya squeal in excitement. There was a fumble, the sound of small hands latching onto the cellphone, and then Natalya’s voice like the voice of heaven in his ear.

“Mr. Q!” she hollered, far too loud to be acceptable for the telephone. James’ reprimand was lost beneath her tirade of questions, and Q smiled as she tumbled through a story of the hospital nurses. When she took a moment to breathe, Q asked her if she wanted to visit him at his home the following day. The answer was overpoweringly positive, and Q grinned.

After a good twenty minutes, James took the phone back from his daughter. “She needs to get ready for bed now,” said James, his voice firm towards Natalya and Q both. “And I suspect your mother is waiting for you to do so as well. Sleep well, Thomas,” said James.

“Sweet dreams, give Natalya a kiss for me,” said Q, and James said one last goodbye before he hung up. Q’s heart sang, and he rolled under his covers, day clothes and all, and smiled into his pillow. His head throbbed, yes, but Natalya and James were coming to visit him tomorrow and everything was alright, everyone was okay.


	17. I Knew Love's Perfect Ache

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one.

It was Q’s mother who answered the door the next day but Natalya dashed through her legs and ran straight into Q’s arms. Q lifted her into the air and held her close, not even bothering to greet James just yet. The snow on her hat and coat didn’t bother him, the smell of her soap and her breath against his neck were comforts he didn’t know he needed. Q set her down on her feet when his mother cleared her throat and smiled sheepishly at James and his mother standing in the mudroom watching them like disapproving parents.

James held out his hand, beckoning Q close, and Q went without a thought to his mother standing a few feet away. He landed safely in James’ embrace, the heat of the man’s chest warming his own. James rubbed a small circle against Q’s back before releasing him, and Q realized he wanted nothing more than to hold the man close forever. He wondered, even as he introduced his mother properly, if the man would permit him that, and maybe wanted the same. Surely all the signals James had been sending weren’t just accidental or superficial; the man had welcomed Q into his family thus far, it couldn’t be that big of a step to go… further.

They all sat down for tea in Q’s small living room, and Natalya bounced around his flat exploring things. She didn’t open any doors that were closed, but she had plenty to investigate in the common rooms alone. Oscar ventured out from underneath the dining room table to join Q on his chair and she immediately gravitated towards them both, hesitantly holding out her hand for the cat to sniff. They became fast friends after that, but Oscar was too lazy an animal to play with her like a dog might. Q smiled and sipped his tea and petted Oscar’s ears.

“How is Ms. Moneypenny holding up through all this? Are the police giving her any trouble?” asked James, after the conversation had turned away from Q’s own recovery. There was genuine concern on James’ face, but Q was more confused than anything.

“The police? Are they questioning her about the incident?” asked Q, and James looked at him.

“She clubbed the man’s head in with a torch,” said James, slowly, and only when he was sure Natalya was out of the room looking at Q’s holiday decorations. “He’s being detained in the hospital, but he hasn’t woken up yet. I fear the police might question her use of excessive force,” said James.

“ _Excessive_ force,” said Q, his tea forgotten beside him. “It was self-defense! I’ll show them excessive force when I shove my foot up their- Natalya, what have you got there?” said Q, his voice switching from retribution to curiosity in an instance. The look he shot James was enough to let the man know he still had things to say, but his experience as a teacher gave him the ability to shift between personas with little transitionary period.

“Is this you, Mr. Q?” she said, holding up a picture frame. Q’s mother spotted the picture and cooed.

“Oh, that’s Thomas when he graduated from his bachelors program. Four years ago, five?” she said, reaching for it. Q let her have it to daydream.

James, wisely following the topic change, took Natalya up unto his lap and leaned over so they could see the picture in his mother’s hands. One perfect blonde eyebrow cocked up. “Five years ago? You were, what? Twenty –two?”

“Twenty-one,” said Q, sniffing a bit as he turned his eyes away and took a sip of tea.

“Thomas was placed in an accelerated program in school, he graduated at sixteen then went abroad to America for a year to spend time with his sister. I believe that’s when he realized he wanted to teach children,” said his mother, and Q nodded.

“Nothing like seeing the American educational system crumble towards its ruin to convince you to join the ranks,” said Q, purposefully avoiding Bond’s eyes now that the man knew their age gap was bigger than Natalya in years. It wasn’t particularly fair of him to assume Bond would care, considering how young Q looked and how Bond had never made a big deal of it before, but to know that Q was only twenty-six and Bond himself having already admitted to being thirty-eight might put a damper on things. While not legally incriminating, a lot of people had hang ups about age and attraction, Q himself included. Bond might be one of those people, and he might not be able to get passed it.

He rejoined the conversation with his mother asking Bond where he had gone to school and what he did before settling down. “And your wife, what does she do for a living?” she asked, and Q wanted to leap out of his seat and cover her mouth, to apologize to Mr. Bond, knowing it was such a touchy subject in the man’s life.

Instead of growing upset, however, James simply smiled and said, “she works in international affairs as well, actually. We met when I went to France for a meeting between our branches. She’s in Italy now.”

“Oh, Italy! I’ve only been once, and I would so love to return for another vacation. I’ve been trying to convince Q to come with me, as my only son, but he always claims he never has the time,” his mother said, and Bond’s attention quickly snapped over to him, a lovely glint in his eye.

“That does sound relaxing, perhaps you and I could work together to persuade him. Italy is one of Natalya’s favourite places to visit,” said James, and his daughter hopped up onto his lap at the sound of her name.

“After Thailand and Egypt,” she said, joining the conversation. Q’s mother looked positively delighted to engage in conversation with her.

“Now tell me, where else in the world have you been?” his mother said, and Natalya appeared perfectly comfortable in answering her. Q stood and went to the kitchen to get another cup of tea, and perhaps a bit less milk than his mother always used.

“They like each other,” said Bond, suddenly standing next to him and leaning on the counter with one hip.

“My mother has a weakness for adorable children,” said Q, putting the milk back in the fridge. He snuck a glance at James and smiled, “and handsome bachelors.”

“I hope she doesn’t plan to make a move on me,” said Bond, smirking.

“She’ll snatch you right up if your give her the chance,” said Q, sipping at his tea to test it.

“I suppose I should watch out then,” said Bond.

“I’d fight for you, don’t worry,” said Q, looking at him over the rim and lingering in his space.

“My honour is intact then, how noble of you,” said Bond, leaning towards him. Q let him have a sip of the tea and Bond hummed in approval. They stood close to each other in silence, close enough that Q could feel the heat radiating from Bond’s chest underneath his sweater. He was sure Bond could hear him breathe or maybe smell his shampoo given the slight height difference between them. But what Q enjoyed most of all about their proximity was how he could move his hand just a few inches and place his fingers above Bond’s heart and feel it beat, slow and sure. It was a sound, a feeling, Q could fall asleep to.

James ducked down, his lips ticking Q’s cheek as he spoke. “You scared me, you know,” said James.

“I did?” said Q, eyes down on his cup.

“I had no idea what happened to you,” said James, “I was so afraid he… had hurt you in a way you would never recover from.” He paused then, just long enough for Q to tastes more of his tea, both hands wrapped around the mug to keep his fingers from shaking. “I’m also indebted to you for saving my daughter,” said Bond.

“I think you owe Eve a bit for that as well,” said Q, because he didn’t know what else to say other than reassuring Bond that there was nothing owed, that Q would have done it for any of his students, not just Natalya.

“Yes, but I’m not in love with Eve,” said Bond, and Q’s breath caught in his throat. He turned his head to look at Bond and their noses brushed.

“You planned this, didn’t you?” said Q, referring to the way their lips nearly touched and how he could smell his tea on Bond’s tongue.

“Just happy circumstance,” said Bond, and seized his lips in the gentlest of kisses. Q sighed into it, tilting his head just enough to one side to catch the perfect angle. It was slow and chaste, everything Q needed and not enough to scare him. He refused to believe Bond had not been planning this for months, except the instinctually charming way the man operated gave that thought pause.

“Daddy!” Natalya called from the other room, and her footsteps were quick to follow. Bond pulled back, his breath tickling Q’s now tingly lips, and smiled, his blue eyes twinkling.

“What is it, Duckie?” he called, moving away from Q and catching Natalya when she came towards him, frog walking her back into the living room. Q took a moment to catch his breath again, still standing next to his coffee maker, then followed suit.

“Natalya was telling me about their trip to India two years back. She’s so well read too,” said his mother, and Q smiled, taking his seat again. Bond winked at him above Natalya’s head, and Q’s mother was none the wiser.


	18. Epilogue

**Five Years Later**

“Natalya, are you all packed?” Q called up the stairs, one foot on the first step so his voice would carry to the second floor.

“Almost, I’m just brushing my teeth!” she yelled, and he heard her feet headed towards the bathroom on the second floor.

Q smiled and moved back to the kitchen, where his own bags sat on the floor, packed and ready to go. James came in from the garage, wiping his hands on a rag. Spotting Q by the sink, he swung over and pecked him on the cheek before moving towards the laundry room. “Is she ready to go?”

“Nearly,” said Q, heaving a sigh of relief when he saw tea was already steaming on the stovetop. “I think she’s excited,” he said, “I mean, I hope she’s excited.”

“She’s excited, I’m excited,” said James, washing his hands of the last remnants of grease. “The car is all checked, we’re all packed, the roads have been plowed, the airport isn’t reporting any delays,” he said, and then caught Q before the man could evade him, pulling him close in a warm embrace. “Stop worrying, this is a good way for us to spend our New Years.”

“My mother is going to make it so awkward,” he said, “remember Paris last summer? She wouldn’t stop asking about our wedding – the one that isn’t set for another year!”

“As opposed to the other wedding, the one we have planned for next Tuesday,” said James, chuckling until Q elbowed him in the side. Then he just held him closer and kissed his neck, “you can stop worrying, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I would hope not, I’d be pissed,” said Q, reaching up to tug at his fiancé’s earlobe. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he said.

“And you to me,” said James, chuckling, “behind our daughter, of course.”

“Oh stop, you’ll make me blush,” said Q, sarcasm dripping off his tongue.

“That gets you hot, huh?” said James, shifting his embrace so he could grip Q’s hips.

“Stop flirting, I can hear you from here!” called Natalya, and Q laughed when James sulked and slunk away.

“Are you ready?” asked Q, sipping his tea. He glanced at his watch, they had an hour before they could start boarding their plane.

Natalya kicked her suitcase into place next to his. “All set,” she said, “you’ll carry my luggage to the car, won’t you Daddy?” she said, bouncing up to kiss James on the cheek.

He positively beamed, still weak to her charms. “Of course, Duckie,” he said, and kissed her forehead before heaving both bags and heading towards the door to the garage.

Natalya grinned at Q and pranced over to him. He let her have a sip of his tea, and she hummed happily at the taste. “You make the best tea, Papa,” she said, and he also kissed her forehead.

“Go help Daddy,” he said, and she bounded away, full of energy. He stared after her, finishing the last of his cup. He couldn’t believe how much she had grown, both emotionally and physically. She had proven countless times to be the most kind and loving young girl he had ever met, and she loved him just as much as she loved James. She was also almost as tall as him now and only in her 8th year of schooling. He still stood a head above her, but she had been growing steadily for the past two years and he feared she would tower over him, given her talent for being the best at everything she put her mind to.

He set his cup in the sink and then looked down at his hands. His engagement ring shone on his ring finger, a simply silver band with two parallel lines running all the way around. James had picked them out, and Q couldn’t be happier with his lover’s impeccable tastes. Q smiled and then tugged the ring off so he could wash his cup, and then returned it to its place on his finger after he dried his hands.

“Thomas, I’ll never let you live it down if you’re the one who makes us late!” said James, his voice coming closer until he joined Q in the kitchen.

“Do excuse me, Mr. Bond, times got the better of me,” said Q, reaching out his hand for James’ own.

James took his hand and raised it to his lips, “please, call me James,” he said, and gave a wink.

“Ugh, stop being so lovey, it’s gross!” called Natalya, her window rolled down despite the cold. “I’ll tell Grammie if you keep it up!” Q laughed, only a little embarrassed but mostly feeling utterly blessed, and James squeezed his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End. Have a good New Year, you guys!  
> Cad


End file.
